Manin! Wyrda! Hugin!
by Amirea
Summary: When Amiréa decides to take her fate in her hand, it starts such a chain of events nobody had dreamt of. Eragon and Arya are getting closer, the Vardens get both hope and despair, while Murtagh gets more and more desperate. And the war continues...
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: **

Later may contain _lemons_. (I guess Chapter 20 is quite like that.) I love _reviews_, but I won't beg (er, not yet). I don't even mind _flames_. My _grammar_ is said to be improving during the story, but I must admit I'm not even close to a native English speaker with my two years for I have been learning it.

The chapters are written in different POVs, every chapter portraying one particular person (usually). Don't forget that what they think, think to know and feel are not necessarily true. Those are only their opinions.

Also, I discovered that at one particular part many readers… stop reading it. Well, let me say, _I love cheating my readers, so read further…_

Set after Brisingr.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, the names, the characters, the style (etc.) of it or any relating rights, Christopher Paolini does. I own only the general idea of the story and some of the characters. The following story is a fanfiction based on Christopher Paolini's books and is only for the entertainment of both me and my occasional readers. Do not copy without my permission (if you should want to - lol).

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**book one**

**Manin! Wyrda! Hugin!**

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Prologue**

It was nearly midnight. The pale moon hid behind the thick clouds which covered the sky. It was dark and silent as nobody dared to bother the king's sleep with any noise. The servants slept deeply in their chambers, trying to escape from reality for as much time as they were able to. It was somehow not the same like other nights – there was the sense of _fate_ in the air. The guards were standing on their places nervously, shivering with the cold of the blowing wind. It shook the leaves of the trees and bushes as if some enemy warrior had been hiding behind it.

The Varden got - as far as it was gossiped – closer and closer to Uru'baen by every hour. With Galbatorix and his dragon, Shruikan in the castle, the soldiers had no fears about the outcome of a confrontation with the rebels. But if the traitors decide to assault, somebody – a guard, obviously – will have to _notice_ them, before notifying the danger the king and his dragon. So the guards, who were bad-lucky enough to be on duty tonight, stared anxiously at the darkness. They weren't the ones who should have feared – nothing and nobody was moving tonight around or inside the castle.

Except one person.

The little girl was going down the stairs which had been built for the servants very long ago not much after the elves' time. In one of her hands she held a lamp, in the other she clutched a sword. The blade was too big for the black-haired girl, who seemed to be no more than twelve years old. Her face was childishly round and soft, but she wore such an expression on it that would have better fit an adult. Her eyes were deep blue and especially exquisite although she stared the steps like she would have been going to kill somebody. Which was exactly the case.

She stopped for a moment to look around. She was almost at the half of the narrow servant corridor, about 800 yards deep under the ground of Uru'baen. _I have to hurry if I'd like to make it back before sunrise, _the girl thought. It was only hypothetical, of course. The 'plan' was just an excuse; she had no real chance to fulfil it. If not the guards, then the wards – either way she would be dead. It's just matter of hours. But first, she had to get down. She took a deep breathe and stepped down in the direction of the secret chamber.

To take courage, she thought of her beloved horse dying of the poison. She could guess that it may have been one of the servants who poisoned him, envying her her uncle and grandfather. It was since then that she called _servant_ every follower of Galbatorix. She remembered once more the words of her _true_ uncle_:_

_If you are forced to serve Galbatorix, and can't tear the bond, you should kill yourself, or let us kill you – for the hope of a better world_. Or something like that. Her not-so-true uncle was just laughing at the thought of being suicide when he told her His words and so was she – then. But she had been considering it a lot recently. Not only His words but also His actions made her think more deeply about war and peace, life and death, and mainly, about _fate_. Once it had come the day, when she wanted to follow only Him, and had thought of Him all day long. She desperately longed for hearing His words with her own ears, for be with Him, for see His blue dragon…

But there hadn't been any chance to this, and probably never would be.

_I'm such a coward, _she thought, as she caught the sight of light down, at the end of the servant's corridor, in front of the secret chamber of Galbatorix's most precious treasure. A few steps and she would stand face to face with many well-trained soldiers. She sighed - _you see, you could just have a sword or anything sharp, and by now you would be totally dead. _But she simply couldn't commit the suicide. After she talked to Murtagh and he told her the old elf and his dragon's death, she decided. She couldn't bear any more aggression and murder.

She wanted to die because she couldn't just simply walk out of Uru'baen – the king knew her true name too, and although she wasn't bound as strongly as her not-so-true uncle and his dragon, she couldn't become a traitor or do anything a real traitor would do. If she didn't do something unforgivable, she would just have been bound stronger. Her grandfather's name didn't count anything as her grandmother had been only a simple attendant and had given birth to a girl, but it would have been enough to consider her execution twice as carefully.

_If there is a way to get free of Galbatorix, to change my true name (if it is possible as my true uncle claims) then the fulfilling of this crazy plan will have to do. _She had come to this conclusion four days ago when she had perfected 'The Great Anti-Galbatorix Plan' – and tonight she had decided to end her life as the king's servant. Fate would decide whether she could start a new one… or not. She didn't honestly believe in option one.

_One more step_… She reached the hall with the soldiers. _Deep breathe… Relax… It'll be over in ten minutes anyways. _She prayed the guards to be efficient enough and kill her fast. Dying painfully for a long time was not really attractive for her. _Coward! Step down!_

The guards stood nervously in the hall with the steel door. They didn't even know what they were protecting, but had a guess that it was more preferable so. Whatever thing was hidden under the castle, behind the steel door, it should have stayed there without their know.

The king's personal rooms were exactly above the secret chamber, yards high. Some days the king came down personally, every time in other hours – the guards never had known when he came to visit next, so they couldn't relax any time. Not that they would be able to. All of them hated to be here. After a time every soldier had got crazy: they heard strange voices whispering in their head. Nobody who served here was able to free himself from the voices' power again and live his life normally afterwards.

There were some torches on the walls and painted trembling shadows on the floor. The guards held one hand on their sword-hilt, although there was no sign of danger, as always. As the night passed so became they more and more nervous. The whisper (Was there really any voice in the air? Or just in their head?) never stopped, never ended. It wasn't loud, but held the sense of dark magic and power in it. They had got quite used to it – as much as they could -, so they did find nothing suspicious on the sound of footsteps. But this time, the sound was not in their head, it came from the direction of the narrow stairs.

The soldiers thought their eyes were deceiving them when they caught the glimpse of a young girl with wide blue eyes. The girl was wearing a sweet long black skirt, but held a sword in her hand. Her hair fell in curls round her heart-shaped face. Her skin was smooth alabaster. It was such an impossible image, the soldiers couldn't believe her to be just an innocent human girl whom she seemed.

_She must be some evil magical creature like the laughing men. She doesn't seem dangerous, so we have to be even more cautious with her. She may be a very old witch or an elf or something like that, in the service of Galbatorix. You can see on her face that she can use magic perfectly… - _the leader of the soldiers thought. But aloud he just said:

„Good evening, ma'am, how can we help you? Are you here to go into the chamber?"

The girl was so surprised at these welcoming words that she stopped and just frowned. She hadn't expected anything like this. The soldiers misunderstood her again and thought her to be offended as they didn't recognize her.

„I'm so sorry, it's such a bad light here downstairs, we didn't see you well… er… my lady." another soldier continued quickly.

„As I can now clearly see, you have a pass so we can open you the chamber." the leader hurried to make amends for his fault. He waited, but she didn't answer. "If you want so?" It sounded rather a question now.

„I want so." she finally managed to spit out. It was now too late that she realized, she was still wearing the pass she stole in order to get into Murtagh's rooms and question him about the gossips of the old Dragon Rider. The guards hurried to the steel door. The leader got out a key ring of his pocket and gave it to her. This was so strange that the girl couldn't help but ask:

„How can this be in your pocket and not in the king's?" as soon as she finished, she realized how uninformed she could seem now. She was about to correct her mistake, but for her surprise, the leader man suddenly blushed.

„His majesty forgot it the last time he was here, and I… I forgot as well to… to get him back…" he stuttered.

„Oh" she answered intelligently.

She held the key ring and opened lock after lock. The soldiers tactfully retreated to the hall's back wall. The key ring had fourteen strange-shaped key on it. It would have been impossible to copy their difficult patterns. The task was very easy: every lock had a name above it, and every key had a different colour.

As every Forsworn's dragon had had a different colour. Her education was not too comprehensive, but this was a thing she was taught to very well. When she paired the first six, she could open the steel door.

On the other side there was a chamber. All around the wall there were the names of the „missing" Forsworn: three on either side of the octagonal room and one more. She went round, pairing the six keys. Opposite the door she came in through there was another one. Her heart gave a leap when she discovered the name „Morzan" above its hole. Her hand trembled as she picked out the ruby key. Now all the locks were opened.

She could hear her heartbeat noisily throbbing in her ears. She heard another sound through it – whispering voices. The young girl took a deep breathe and opened the door of the chamber in which the third dragon egg was hidden.

„_Eragon, I do this for You…"_

**To be continued...

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**Author's Note: **I hope you enjoyed. Review if you should feel like so.

Amiréa


	2. Chapter 1 The kidnapping of Nasuada

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, the names, the characters, the style (etc.) of it or any relating rights, Christopher Paolini does. I own only the general idea of _this_ story. The following story is my (first) fanfiction based on Christopher Paolini's books and is only for the entertainment of both me and my occasional readers. Do not copy without my permission (if you should want to - lol).  
Set after Brisingr.

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**Chapter 1 – The kidnapping of Nasuada**

_'I do this for You…'_

A dark-haired girl's image appeared through the mist of the dream in Eragon's head. Deep blue eyes seeming too old for her with some know in them… He shook his head to clear it. The dream was so vivid… Would it really have been only a dream? He couldn't remember very well. The feeling was so strong, and familiar… He should have remembered something… something important…

She had been in his dreams for three days by now, but he always forgot everything to the time he woke up. The girl somehow remembered him of Arya, although she was visibly human. She wore black clothes like some midnight's thief, but with long skirt. Did she steal that horse? She was riding a horse, he was sure… And those words repeated many times…

_I do this for You…_

He heard them in his mind all day long, buried deep in his subconscious. Later he would have to deal with this, he decided, but not now. At first there are some things to finish.

_Good morning, Little One._

_Good morning, Saphira._

_I was right about to wake you. It's almost sunrise. We have to go for Nasuada_, Saphira's voice was excited, and he knew she almost died to start their mission at last. She must have spent the whole night awake.

Eragon got up and poured water into the basin of the prepared jug to wash his face. It was still weird for him to be in a normal house after so many days in tent. He totally got out of habit. He knew that most of the Varden loved to be a step closer to their formal lifestyles - no matter how tiny step it was -, but for him it was only sort of strange and unfamiliar. He hadn't lived in human-built house since he had left Carvahall. The time with the elves was something else, there, he could be himself, the Dragon Rider; they had special care and space for Saphira, and it was natural to be inside the house with a herself nearly house-sized dragon. They could share their place of life there like their emotions and thoughts. But since they moved in Feinster, his dragon's size was a permanent problem.

_It seems people admire dragons just in battletime. They have no place for them in their „normal" lives._ The thought made Eragon sad.

One day after the invasion of Feinster a young merchant complained about „that gigantic beast" for which his carts had no place on the street, although he was in a hurry. Eragon simply didn't understand why he had made such a problem for himself – it was true that the dragon had been a living barricade, but the merchant could easily choose another street as there were many, parallel to the one in question. The Rider had the feeling that the complaining man intended to hurt his dragon's feelings while showing „who the tough boy is". It _was_ not a wise decision.

He flung his clothes on. He had to hurry if he didn't want to be late.

_I'll eat breakfast on the way,_ he said as he climbed up to Saphira's back sensing that she couldn't bear standing for more minutes. The dragon waited for him in front of their new home: this house was almost a mile far from the city, but at least there were nobody around being bothered by Saphira's frequent landings and flying ups, moving or size. There was a brook close to the cottage, and the forest was right on its other side. To be honest, Eragon felt a little bit isolated. But if they had remained in the city, it would have caused only further problems and yet more tension between the Varden and the citizens of the town.

Saphira turned towards the ex-residence of Lady Lorana. She was smiling and enjoyed the fresh morning air as they flew to the tower. She didn't seem to notice the a part of the city where the houses were black of the recent fire. In a large circle everything burnt to ashes. Eragon shook his head when he looked at the ruins of their former house in the center of the circle. Like she would have become aware of her rider's thoughts, Saphira seemed to blush – if it was possible in the case of a dragon. Yes, that young merchant would had had definitely better not calling the sapphire dragon a 'monumental deer-using blue stove'. He couldn't and nobody can blame her for her reaction.

When they reached the tower, Saphira landed very softly and silently in the garden (the whole palace trembled for a moment with such a sound a breaking metal shield would make). Saphira, being content with her secret arrival, stepped closer to the waiting Farica. The woman seemed nervous in the reddish light of the rising sun, but made no compliments. _There aren't many people who would go against a dragon's will, _Eragon thought. When Saphira told her idea (and steady want) to Nasuada's maid, she didn't complain much against the task the dragon _commanded_ her.

One morning Eragon and Saphira had visited Nasuada for talking about the further tasks and tactics. When Eragon was going towards the hall, some people were leaving, but a white-haired man stopped and stepped closer to Eragon, observing him. Eragon had got used to the interest around his person but the man's examining on him was truly annoying. The old man had seemed faintly familiar to Eragon, so he asked Nasuada about him.

The old man happened to be not only the guild-master of the merchants in Feinster, but the father of Saphira's now burnt-eyebrowy young merchant. The Varden needed the citizens to be cooperative, and burning down almost a whole quarter of theirs hadn't helped much, Nasuada, however, hadn't blame Saphira for doing so. She had said that she had had much more to do than to argue with some supersensitive merchants. And so, she gained the dragon's appreciation forever. She arranged the differences, and Saphira was very grateful.

Eragon thought that maybe this was the point why she had found out her plan. They both knew how much Nasuada had had to argue, deal and do compromises these days, and the 'beast' decided to get assured that her protégé has as much time to relax as she thought to be desirable for a human. Eragon's complaints – _How do you know how much she should sleep as you had never lived with a real human? – _fell on deaf ears._ Because I'm a wise dragon. _The plan was secret. Saphira enjoyed her role and Eragon was glad to see the child-side of her. She often was wiser and seemed older in soul than others, including Eragon. And this was the point why he helped her dragon. Not that he weren't have been able to say her no as some might think. It was his own decision.

The sun was rising; the beams painted the whole garden to reddish. The windows glittered in the sunlight, making impossible to look directly at the tower. The colours remembered Eragon how close autumn was. Although winters so far in the south were not so cold as the ones in the Palencar Valley, it will cause a lot of problems with the moving of the army. Eragon glanced down at the fidgeting Saphira. _It's almost a year I found her egg, and so are we here, waiting for the greatest war for a hundred years to begin, amongst elves, dwarfs and humans, queens and kings, as their biggest weapon._

_She's coming, she's coming! – _Saphira shouted in Eragon's mind. She couldn't contain herself for excitement, and stand calmly on her place.

She was right, the leader of the Varden was coming, surrounded by six of the Nighthawks. Differently from her usual clothes, she was wearing trousers and a long tunic. Farica had followed Saphira's commands. When she caught the sight of the waiting dragon and her rider, she furrowed.

'Eragon, Saphira, what are you doing here so early in the morning?'

'Actually we came to see you if you had time for us.' Saphira answered, breaking into the women's mind without hesitation or shame.

'You know I always have time for you two.' She didn't seem to be offended because of the dragon's behavior. 'Well, I'm a little busy at the moment…'

'We need you now. And actually for the whole morning. But by noon, you'll be brought back, I can promise.'

'Er… Pardon…?' She might have sensed something of the followings. 'Eragon, what's going on?' When the rider didn't answer, she turned to Saphira. 'I don't understand…'

_My lady, you are being kidnapped, _Saphira said, purring in her satisfaction. _Eragon, would you be so kind, and take the hostage?..._

**To be continued...**

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**Author's Note: **So, here I am with another 'chapter'. I decided to cut off the length of the chapters to be able to update more frequently.

Thank you for all the encouragement and review I got, I was very glad you liked my story.

I hope you loved this side of Saphira at least half as me. It turned out to be rather humorous. My next is Arya and her thoughts - I would like to write about her (too) a way she'd be acting in real life (= in CP's mind), and keep her true (so - as far as I know - she won't run to Eragon with a love evidence - not yet). I had wanted to do so with Eragon and Saphira too. Please write me about how much you think I succeeded, and about your opinion in general (if you feel like it). If you should have questions, please ask me.

Bye,

Amiréa

**PS Moaning:** I had thought to write something stoical about school, but today morning I realized how much I would have to learn and be in school (very much I inform you) and just didn't. This will be a really tough year. :S I like to study but not sooo unendly, seven lessons every day is sooo much (if not nine, be happy X( )! Okay, I've finished moaning. _I_ chose it,_ I_ will have to bear it.


	3. Chapter 2 A man in love

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, the names, the characters, the style (etc.) of it or any relating rights, Christopher Paolini does. I own only the general idea of _this_ story. The following story is my (first) fanfiction based on Christopher Paolini's books and is only for the entertainment of both me and my occasional readers. Do not copy without my permission (if you should want to - lol).  
Set after Brisingr.

Thank you for the reviews. Enjoy.

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**Chapter 2 – A man in love**

Arya sighed. Her mother was getting on her nerves. Islanzadí wanted to know every single thing happening in the Varden camp and especially around Eragon – no matter how much Arya said, she thought her daughter was not telling her _everything _important. She was right of course but Arya felt bad because of her distrust.

She stared at the sky. She knew that Eragon and Saphira would not be there, she still felt disappointed. She had heard about Nasuada's kidnapping in the morning in the many checked minds of humans. The gossip went round with impossible speed. She wondered why they had done so. She didn't see the reasons behind it, and this got on her nerves. Too. With her queen's interrogation on top of that, and her day was truly ruined.

She had a splitting headache. It felt like some dwarf miners of the Beor Mountains would have happened to be searching for gold in _her_ head (better safe than sorry). She headed to her tent's direction, hoping to be able to have a rest_. If the Empire decides to attack now, I will arrange for the miners to visit them too, _she thought sourly. Her face remained calm and composed as always; she didn't put off her mask, just in her very close friends' presence.

As she walked by a large oak growing on a square the Varden practised fencing, she decided to go out in the nearby forest, relax and not bother with anybody. Watching the swords she remembered herself to clean and care for her own. _But only after the meditating, _she promised herself.

Her tent was near to the walls of the city, far from the crowded streets and squares where the permanent noise was unbearable for her sensitive elven ears. However, there, it was also too loud for her. During the time she had spent carrying Saphira's egg she had gotten used to such discomforts. The other elves in the camp could bear it much worse. She would prefer to live outside the city as Eragon and Saphira did, but Blödhgarm and the twelve spellcasters didn't want to live in human houses and Arya had to show her solidarity. They didn't even know about her sacrifice; since she had lost her two friends, Fäolin and Glenwing, she spoke little with their own kind (and also with other kinds of people).

And a lonely tent would have attracted too much attraction, wouldn't have been safe. She had enough to do without bothering with thieves.

As she walked by, the most men turned after her. She had gotten used to that too: human men found her beautiful and attractive. Most of them didn't have the courage to accost her, but their attention was uncomfortable and bothering. She knew they weren't interested in her personality or even her features, but her _kind_. Those who stuck to try to reward her attention, got an unforgettable lesson of her speed and knowledge in fencing. Yet she seemed to have one applicant who followed her for days now. She wrote on her fictitious list to take care of him some time.

Reaching her tent, the elf changed her clothes. It was not something she often did in the middle of the day, but she needed to feel the familiarly soft touch of an elf-made tunic on her skin. In the very moment she felt better. She brought only a knife with her, on her belt. The clean-needing sword remained in her tent.

No matter how much she hated, she searched Blödhgarm's mind to inform him where she had gone, for the case of danger. She longed for the time she had nobody to refer about her every step, but the princess of the elves knew the necessity very well. She should have been an example for everybody. He wished her a good time, and assured her that he would keep a firm hand on everything. Otherwise, Arya would have been irritated by this, as nothing was going to happen or be to keep a firm hand on, but today she was glad to take off all the responsibility.

She ran towards the forest with full speed and felt unordinarily free. She didn't slow when she reached the brook, just flung into the air and sprung above it. Once she had no task to complete, no mission to fulfil. No politics, no quarrels. No plans, no armies. She felt the forest living around her, and finally slowed. She arrived at a clearing surrounded by tall oaks. She sat down to the ground and just listened to the life around her. She let her thoughts to leave far behind her, her worries to flake off of her. Her mind cleared itself, chasing away all the bitter memories and fears, darkness and hopelessness.

The animals around her were having their own fears and feelings, but it was pleasant to listen to their pure world. They had to struggle to have food, to be safe when night comes, to feed their children. They didn't see anything besides themselves. The animals did not have to do sacrifices, to be sacred, to be perfect. Nobody blamed them for anything. They did not fear _fate_.

Islanzadí will calm down and forget about her every charge against her. And Eragon and Saphira will come back with their prisoner. She will ask them about it later. Eragon will hurry to answer. She grimaced for the reason behind adoration for Arya was poisoning their relationship and friendship.

Arya got furious when suddenly a new mind pushed itself into her peace. _How dared he to come here of so many places!, _Arya screamed inside her own mind_. Can't I have a single hour for myself? _He was obviously human but guarded his mind with strong walls. Arya slowly stood up. The dwarf was getting back into her head.

The man had long, special blond hair with light blue eyes. He was tall and well-built, and every human women would have found him very handsome. But Arya found him simply annoying. It was the same man that had been following him for days. He was smiling and stood in front of Arya, close to the elf. She got more and more impatient with every second but she did not break the silence.

'Ah, my lady…' Begun the man.

'What do you want?' She was after being polite. She emphasized every word to be sure he understood. Human could be very under-intelligent and she didn't want to stretch this even longer. Her words seemed to surprise him, but he quickly composed himself and continued.

'When I first caught Your sight, I realized instantly. I have been waiting for You in my whole life, and I know that You are created by the Gods,' Arya sighed. It was all the same. The idea was flattering, even if she did not believe in any Gods. 'especially for me.' The elf furrowed. This was new for her. 'You are my present, my angel, the woman I got from them to reward me.' She felt that now she had better say something, but she could not spit out a single word. It did not happen frequently, but her tongue left her in the lurch, her mind felt totally empty. The man for whose sake she had been created, didn't seem to be bothered by that. He continued declaring his love to her, but not the way she expected, listing his glorious deeds for which the Gods created him Arya. This would have roused her from her shock. No, the man said:

'My name is Grûlthar. When I first caught Your scent, I felt instantly. You are the Only One. You smell like the fields growing the harvest, like the soil which feed us. Your scent is so sharp like the air in the mountains in a winter morning, so fresh like the vapour surrounding the falls deep in a green, luxuriant forest, so sweet like the colourful flowers in a sultry summer evening, so soft like a bear-cubs' brown fur, so purple like the bottom of the thick white clouds at sunset, so still like a chirping bird's lonely sound in winter, so…' And he continued listing impossible and only weird images. Arya got the sense the man was insane, that his mind was clouded by craziness. He listened to him with growing shock. Her mouth fell open as she heard this human man. Grûlthar went on, and spoke for almost half an hour about her _scent_.

'...I know it's hard for You, but You will admit that I am right. I am going to be around You. You are my present from the Gods. Think about my words and my right. You don't have to say anything now. – _What a luck_, the words appeared in Arya's mind. Part of her mind seemed to still be able to think. He bowed. 'I was glad to find You alone. It was better to speak with You without witnesses. I hope You will understand my point soon. It was nice to talk to You, honey. See You soon again.' He bowed one more time, then turned around and walked back towards Feinster.

Arya stood there silent. She looked at the point the man vanished for a long time. She couldn't move, she froze there in one place. This day was really strange. And hadn't finished yet.

When Eragon and Saphira came there and found her, she still stood there motionless.

It was beyond her comprehension.

**To be continued...

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**Author's Note: **I try to update every two days. Actually I finished this chapter yesterday already, but there has to be some time to perfect it and edit the false parts/grammar mistakes. Please write and criticise me or ask if some details are cloudy. (If you feel like it.)

Bye,

Amiréa


	4. Chapter 3 Love evidence

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, the names, the characters, the style (etc.) of it or any relating rights, Christopher Paolini does. I own only the general idea of _this_ story. The following story is my (first) fanfiction based on Christopher Paolini's books and is only for the entertainment of both me and my occasional readers. Do not copy without my permission (if you should want to - lol).  
Set after Brisingr.

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**Chapter 3 - Love evidence  
**

The sea sparkled in the brilliant light. High billows lifted and fell back making hills and valleys on the surface. Cool wind blew from the south and tangled the top of the waves with white drops. Salty air whirled above it wetting the clothes of the people. Their fishing boats were far away on the open sea. The coast was only a green haze somewhere in the north.

Eragon looked at his liege lady's enchanted expression and decided to follow Saphira's intentions in the future. The dragon knew that Nasuada had never flown with her yet (as nobody did besides Eragon except Arya of course, once Blödhgarm and Jeod as his present. The latter was so incredibly grateful and happy with his time on Saphira that she had got very content with herself and her job.) So she thought to reward Nasuada's patience and kindness for them.

And she was right of course. The woman had got a smaller shock at the beginning and was not shrieking in terror only because of the witnesses. However, she soon recovered and at last enjoyed their trip to the sea.

Eragon held her tight to his chest, putting an arm around the woman's waist. She was sitting in front of him because Eragon found more secure if he could see and feel her in every moment. The sea was deep below, lifting and falling. The sun was shining and all of them felt happy as the dragon dived under the water. Her sapphire scales harmonized with the deep blue of the sea. The sight was so fascinating Eragon knew he would remember it until the end of his life.

It was the first time Saphira felt happy since Oromis' and Glaedr's death. _There's no sense mourning for them for any longer, _she thought to Eragon. _They had a full, long and glorious life. I still feel so alone… Look at the sea, we don't even know how far it stretch. There is so much water in it! I had felt so tiny in the Hadarac desert last time. It is so _huge_ here! I don't have to worry about crashing some tents or stupid people. If it were not these damn seagull-cracklings _(she opened her mouth to burn down an especially insolent one that froze in place seeing the (not only) deer-using stove),_ it would be my favourite place on earth._

_Maybe the third dragon egg's dragon will be able to be your mate _afterwards_. Or Thorn might get free of Galbatorix's will. _Eragon sighed. _You should not be so alone. It's not fair. It can be hundreds of years until the third egg hatches._

_You are the last free Dragon Rider as well. _

_But Dragon Riders can mate everybody._

_You did not mate _everybody_. And have you thought about the question of that egg's master?_

'_The egg's master'?_

_If that dragon hatches and hopefully not for the king, we will be the last ones who'll be able to teach them…With Oromis and Glaedr dead._

A bitter thought began to appear in Eragon's mind. He hurried to hide it of his dragon. Oromis and Glaedr believed to be no hope for a new rider to rise otherwise they would have stayed in Ellesméra. And _afterwards_, they will be able to think about it more carefully. He had no idea how this could be resolved. Saphira was the last free female dragon. If she would be the master of the last male, they could not be mates… It would be sort of like being the parents of them. Eragon banished his dark thoughts before his dragon could notice his emotions. They will have plenty of time for that.

There was no 'official' funeral: the war was too important, _they _would also have wanted to continue without mourning. The Dragon Rider and his dragon had not been the only ones who died. Sadness filled the elves now as more hundred and thousand years old people had fallen, letting holes in the elves' heart.

Eragon had not talked much to Arya privately since the killing of Varaug, but he knew that her kind had turned all in black after their first war at Gil'ead. _And though, they won't stop until the king lives. They won't stop until only one is alive of them. They won't stop even if their queen dies._ _The princess will have to be even more careful and stay alive. Islanzadí's death would really complicate things, though. And nobody can be sure that she would accept the throne anyways. She is still very young. _Eragon grimaced. The age that set them at variance was almost child-like in the elves' eyes. _But… she would definitely accept it, if she feels herself bound to do it. What a masochist that woman is!... _

Nasuada gazed back at him, smiling in her overflowing joy. Her eyes were a deep chocolate brown, filled with happiness. Water drops glittered on her dark skin, she faintly shivered from their coldness. Her lips were full deep rose, her body cuddled up to his. And he felt no intentions to get closer to her than friend to friend. He sighed. Arya was the only woman he was in love with, whom he could see as man a woman.

Her refusal was still painful in his heart, but now he felt something else too. He knew. He loved her with such intensity, such power, that was not going to fade in his (almost) eternity-long lifetime. Despite everything she feels, everything she does, everything she says, she was going to stay in his heart. He did not come to this conclusion at the very moment, he had been thinking about it for a while, but it was now that he could see it clearly.

He didn't know to be happy or sad with this realization. Then he decided, it was no matter either. _I will accept whatever it means, be it happiness or sadness. _He felt suddenly free as he did not have to be ashamed of his love any longer. It was part of his life, his being. _It is one step closer to find out your true name too. _Saphira added, breaking her silent attention to her riders thoughts. _I'm finally starting to understand myself more completely. _He answered with satisfaction.

_When we get back, I'll go and say her it. I won't feel sorry for such things I cannot change or influence._

_Talking about getting back: we should turn back soon if Nasuada doesn't want to be late. _

Nasuada seemed disappointed, when he repeated it to her but soon found her 'fearless-leader-of-the-Varden' face again. Saphira turned to the water and was nosediving in a spiral. When she got close to the surface, she turned back to horizontal, swishing towards the coast with full speed. Her wings brushed the tops of the highest billows drizzling salty water on them as she leaned to either sides. Nasuada exhaled the air she took a minute ago, yet miles higher. She loosened her grip on the thorn in front of her.

Eragon felt a shy thought trying to enter his already entirely opened mind. He welcomed her.

_How did you get used to this? I feel as I would be going to die every time. I know of course, that Saphira wouldn't let us fall down of her back but still… I'm scared to death._

_I'm sorry, little… er, I mean Nasuada._

_It's not your fault. I'm just not used to it. _

_Me either. _Eragon said.

_Oh, don't tell me lies just to comfort me, I felt, you did not move an inch. You were completely relaxed._

_I can see in her mind what she will do. And it wasn't even her worst maneuver. _He could feel Saphira to be a little offended with 'worst'.

_So you are bound in mind and cannot even think anything without the other's know? It could be terrible never to be alone._

Eragon remembered Glaedr's last thoughts and shivered. _We are bound in a way that…_

…_isn't uncomfortable at all. We even feel bad if…_

…_we are separated and cannot…_

…_share our thoughts and beings. We…_

…_are not two independent person, we…_

…_make a whole together. But we two… _

…_have also sovereign personalities. Although…_

…_not all the time, as we can unite…_

…_our minds to be only 'one person', but…_

…_this is usually getting on people's nerves,…_

…_because they do not know…_

…_which of us is speaking and find..._

…_annoying that we finish each others'…_

…_sentences. _The dragon said smiling on Nasuada's confusion as the woman could sense the uniting of their minds as they spoke about it as well. Where there had been two different person, now was only one. She shook her head.

_It _is_ annoying. _They could feel the dragon's body tremble of her chuckle under them.

During their discussion they had already reached Feinster, so she circled some to find a convenient landing place. The Nighthawks anxiously stamped on their feet in the place the dragon left them in the morning.

Saphira snorted. _I have said them I would get her back by noon. They act like I had kidnapped her._

_You did exactly so, _Eragon pointed at the fact. Saphira only snorted another one in answer. They left Nasuada with her guards. The woman tried to thank them for the sea excursion, but Saphira did not let her say much, informing her that she is sleepy and needs some sleep. Immediately. The woman was still laughing when they left her go to some meetings of her own.

However, the sapphire dragon agreed to take the nervous Eragon to his talk with Arya. It was easy to find her, since the elf's mind was familiar to both of them. For his surprise, she was deep in the forest, standing alone at a clearing. He wondered what she might have done there. She said the elf might be better left on her own, but she was also nervous. After some quarrel they decided to go there and see whether she wants their company or not.

She stood motionless with dismay frozen on her face like a statue. Eragon frowned. He skipped all the formal greetings and asked:

'Er… Arya… you all right?'

The elf shuddered and looked at Eragon as if she had woken from some dream. 'All right. Yes. I was just… thinking.' She seemed to realize where they were. 'And you? What are _you_ doing here?' Saphira encouragingly poked his shoulder with her snout and flew off. She barely noticed it.

'Actually… I was looking for you.' He flushed. Arya became suspicious to hear something she did not want to at all. 'I love you. And…' She cut him off mid-sentence.

'Do not declare your love to me now, I…'

'Yes, I do. Let me get over this. Look, I _had_ tried to forget you, _truly_ had, but there is no use of it. I love you and I won't be ashamed of this. I won't be ashamed of things I cannot change or influence. I apologize that I had been so tactless before, and I honestly feel sorry for that. But not for my emotions.' He took a deep breathe of the air scented by her personal perfume, the one he loved so much. He smiled sadly at the woman, the only one he could look at as a man at a woman.

'I love you, Arya, much more than you can imagine.' She soundlessly gasped at the words: he whispered them in the Ancient Language, he was not able to lie her. His words had power, and this made her shiver. He continued without a stop. 'But I promise that I will not let this affect my duties as a Dragon Rider, and that I will not harass you with my adoration. I will rest satisfied with whatever you can offer, be it your friendship or… or love.' He grimaced at the last word, with bitterness in his breaking as he anxiously stared at her to see her reaction.

And Arya started to laugh hysterically.

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**Author's Note: **It became quite long though I did not know exactly what to write it to this chapter. The next will be much more interesting, but I had to clear some points so that the story would be more comprehensive and would flow easier. I'm sorry it took so long. But I can see my readers are the best ones as nobody was impatient. I cannot imagine other cause for the nearly no reviews, but that you can't find the words with which you could describe my masterpiece (...) ;) And still, I try to keep myself to my determination and not beg (on my knees...). So, I just shut up.

Amiréa

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	5. Chapter 4 Break

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, the names, the characters, the style (etc.) of it or any relating rights, Christopher Paolini does. I own only the general idea of _this_ story. The following story is my (first) fanfiction based on Christopher Paolini's books and is only for the entertainment of both me and my occasional readers. Do not copy without my permission (if you should want to - lol).

Dedicated to Elvendiath with whom after some chatting we managed to find out we are both Hungarian and should not communicate in English (lol), and to Solangedrama who reviews after every single chapter and keeps me writing.

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**Chapter 4 - Break**

It was almost sunrise. The bottom of the horizon became lighter, as the sun chased away the darkness which covered the small forest. The stars faded as pale light shone from the east. The animals started to wake up and begin their day. Birds were chirping, welcoming the return of their time, joyfully singing amongst the green leaves. In this morning, they were alive, no night predator had chosen them as prey. They were survivors.

As was her. At the root of an old oak, a young girl was sleeping. She was not peaceful, she had had a restless night. She never slept peacefully anyways. But at last the exhaustion had won over her, and she had fallen asleep. She could lie there: nobody was in the forest far and away except a horse. It was tied to the tree next to her oak and looked at least as exhausted as the girl.

The light turned to red and the top of the sun was already above the horizon when the girl began to awake. At first she did not realize where she was. It was so uncomfortable and she did not know why she was there, at the root of an old oak, in the middle of a forest. Where was her bed, her room, her life? Then she remembered: she had died.

_Eragon._

She has to find him. She has to deliver him it… She has to get on her feet and go on. He has to get the third dragon egg. She threw a glance at her ankle which was covered by a makeshift white bandage then at the protruding bag in her lap. She had hugged it tightly in her sleep.

She was not able to keep on. _Yes, you are! You have to be!_ It seemed so easy, just to lie here until either of the dark Dragon Riders finds her. Just not to do anything, but wait for death to come. But she couldn't. No. Not yet.

She reached into the bag to have some breakfast. There wasn't much left: she did not dare go into the towns. It was stupid: if the king had discovered the theft, she would not live any more. The girl chewed thoughtfully her bread. Her ankle ached and throbbed with fire. She had fallen off her horse some days ago. It had cracked and she should have rest it, but she had no time to wait for its natural heal and spellcasters were all suspicious in her eyes. She could not trust anybody with such power on this mission. It was not even fixed. _See, if you weren't so unmagical, you could heal yourself and go on without any problems. _She sighed. _It's not me that should do such things. I'm just a girl for crying out loud!_

Then she pulled out the deep green stone of her bag. Its beauty amazed her every time she saw it. This exquisite egg could not be forced to serve Galbatorix. She had already imagined the dragon inside it. _Whomever it hatches, he will be very lucky._ The girl hoped it would be someone strong and honourable, who would be worthy of the deep green egg. _You had not found anybody yet, but do not worry about it. I will take you to the Varden, and they will find the one you would like to be your Rider I promise. You did not have many choices. _She slipped the green egg back into the bag halfheartedly.

She lightly moved her leg but at the very moment tears filled her eyes. It was even worse than in the evening. _It gets worse and worse by every day. I had better not move my foot. _She whistled to the mare. It was not in a better condition than she was. She had to hurry and get to the Varden camp at Feinster.

She had stolen the least noticable black mare of a merchant in Uru'baen after she had escaped the secret chamber. She had been terrified and had not had the time to think much. She had not been able to think clearly. She had wanted to get out of the castle, and thanks to the stolen pass, she had succeed. Now she could see her mistake: she should have stolen a pair of trousers too. Although her black skirt was the most comfortable and the one she had usually wore for riding, it was not a lucky choice for so much time on horseback. It was also the stupid skirt's fault that she had fallen off of the horse.

She grabbed the side of the saddle to pull herself up to the mere's back. She stood up on one foot and carefully sprang upon a higher root. She took her knee into the stirrup and climbed up the horse. When she was half in place with her other leg on the other side, she pulled her knee out and balanced to a safe position. She hugged the bag to her ankle was throbbing, but now at least she could go on towards Eragon.

The girl trotted out of the little forest. There were only these large lowlands separating them of the Varden. Miles away, in front of them, somewhere in the distance, there was the sapphire dragon, and her rider. Miles long no entrenchment, no chance to hide away. She sighed and started to begin the last part of her journey.

The land was boring and there was nothing to distract her. She could feel her ache in her ankle throbbing with the mere's every movement. No bushes, no trees, and – no water. By noon, all her water was used up. There was no way back. But was there anything in front of her, or just her death? The mere would have needed to drink too. The shy morning sun was away, a new, hot one replaced it.

She was sweating and her breathe hardened in her heavy black clothes which protected her against the shivering cold of the autumn nights, but now made she feel inside a stove. There was not going to be another night though. She took off everything she could. The black mare was suffering too. If she had been able to walk, she would have done it. But she was not able to, she needed the horse to move. Her throat ached with dryness.

In the distance a mirage painted the image of a brook above the barren land. _It's even worse than I thought. I already have hallucinations. So _this_ will be the end. To die here, in the middle of the bare land. _She only felt pity for the dragon, she could not carry to a better place. _I was hoping in a new life as for myself as for the dragon. But maybe, there is no freedom waiting for us. Maybe, we are destined to be on the evil side. _

The mare seemed to hallucinate the water too, as it began to trot faster, until galloping. Her ankle was striking against the side of the horse, so she had to hold it further as much as she could. Could this be true?

In the middle of the barren lowlands flew a little river. The black horse sensed the scent of water in the air and used all its strength to get there. It was galloping with the last amount of energy it had, not bothering with anything else. She feared to drop the egg, she hugged the bag tightly. Therefore she had to let go the reins with one of her hands. The river came closer with every spring of the horse. It _was_ real. The girl smiled. _Or maybe, gods are watching for us._

One moment. One moment and everything changes. One moment of distraction. One moment you do not concentrate entirely. One moment when the horse tripped over a rock beneath the cloudy water's mirror and was not in the balance it had been. It was too late when she realized what was going on; she could not help just try to dull the force of the nasty spill.

For a moment, everything went black. She couldn't feel anything else, just the pain cleaving into her ankle. She was not able to breathe, to clear her mind. Water had got into her lunges as she had taken a breathe not realizing where she was at first. She tried to get to the surface. That river could not be so deep. She just had to stand up. Her lunges ached for air. _Feet down, face up. Where is the bottom? Where is the air? _

_I cannot drown here, _she desperately thought. Red and white circles changed in her sight. She tried to find something solid. After some time, which felt an eternity, her head broke the surface. However, she was not able to stand on her foot for much time. She trashed and swam to remain on the surface. She did not even realize that she was still hugging the bag with the green egg until she finally staggered out of the deep water, on her hands and knees.

But at least she got to the other side. It was a positive thing._ The River Jiet! _How could she forget about it? She must have remembered wrong, and Feinster was on the other side, not on this as she had thought. Yet one mistake like this and she would truly die.

Her lungs were aching and as was her ankle. She sit down to the ground gasping for breathe. Her head was spinning.

It would be so easy to sleep, to have a rest. She had had to do something, though… It was as if some haze had bee non her mind. She lay there for some time, but at last her mind cried her too loudly to wake up and go on. Why should she hurry so much? Her ankle hurts so much. The dragon egg… But it had waited hundreds of years now, it could wait some minutes, couldn't it?... Her horse should also have some rest, shouldn't it?...

The girl looked around to see the one in case. The faithful mare drank water in the middle of the brook, not far away. Then her gaze met the sight of the water foaming in scarlet. Why? Her mind was slow, but the answer slightly woke her up. She sit up to see more. _Her blood_ painted everything into reddish colours. Not only the water, but the grass in the way to her. She swallowed and risked a glance at her tortured right ankle. Her foot and her watery clothes were all in red with blood. Where had so much come from?

Her ankle seemed to throb even more. She cautiously pulled aside her skirt covering her foot. The bandage had come undone. She gasped for air for a moment. Her foot was in an unnatural angle. In the place her ankle should have been, there was a large open wound. At one part, she could see her bone: white against scarlet flesh. She almost fainted. Dark red blood was pulsing of the injury covering the earth beneath her. The young girl was shivering with cold. The warm, life-giving liquid left her quickly. She felt like in a dream. It seemed impossible. No, this cannot be real.

Moving slowly, she ripped a band off her long skirt and compressed the blooding. She acted automatically, not being self-conscious. It seemed as somebody would have taken the reign over her body. The girl hugged the bag, took a last glance at the third and last dragon egg and tied its mouth. She whistled to the horse and fixed the bag on the saddle. She climbed up at the horse's back. She used some strength that could not be hers. Like somebody else would have got her up. Now there were long moments when she lost her consciousness.

Afterwards, she did not remember, how she had got on the horseback. She spent some time awake, but mostly, she was unconscious. She had some cloudy memories about riding through the lowlands and after that through a forest to another plain. When she regained her consciousness, the sun was almost at the bottom of the horizon. Her whole foot was aching. Maybe the pain was what woke her up. Her head cleared a bit, but her whole body felt strangely weak. Now she could not be far away of Feinster. If she was heading there. She corrected some on the direction.

Suddenly she became aware of some strange noise.

_Dump. Dump. Dump. _She knew that sound.

Dragonwings' flutter in the air.

A red dragon flew at the bottom of the horizon behind her. Towards her.

Her uncle had found her.

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**Author' Note:** I wanted to say some things to you, but now I cannot remember. Well, actually I'm quite tired but wanted to have this on, so there may be more mistakes than usually. I'm sorry for that.

(And yes, HERE is evening not middle of morning, so I _can _be tired.)


	6. Chapter 5 Because of love

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, the names, the characters, the style (etc.) of it or any relating rights, Christopher Paolini does. I own only the general idea of _this_ story. The following story is my (first) fanfiction based on Christopher Paolini's books and is only for the entertainment of both me and my occasional readers. Do not copy without my permission (if you should want to - lol).

* * *

**Chapter 5 – Because of love**

Eragon stared at the ceiling of his room. It was past midnight, some hours before sunrise. Everything was silent. There was no noise besides Saphira's soft snoring. The night was soft and warm, perfectly peaceful. Nothing could have ruined the Dragon Rider's sleep. Just his own thoughts, which were chasing about in his mind.

_She did not laugh at you…_

_It was clear as daylight that you shouldn't have done that…_

_She did not mean it…_

_She had said you not to bother her with your adoration, hadn't she?..._

_Arya is not so cruel, she would not hurt you by want…_

_She was simply fed up with your childish stupidity…_

_She did mean it to clear that you had no chance and held no interest for her._

_She didn't want to hurt you…_

_She might not know what her laugh means for you…_

_She is not so stupid…_

_You disturbed her when she wanted to be alone, it's natural she did not act positively…_

_Her mother is fighting, her kind is fighting and dying, and Oromis and Glaedr are dead… You could not have waited to fling her arms round your neck…_

_She is lonely, she should share her thoughts with somebody. If not us then who will listen to her? She is lonely otherwise._

_Why do you think so?_

_She would have told us if she had a… mate…_

_You are not friends, not any more. You never were true friends…_

The ceiling did not answer and told him what to do. He repeated the scene again and again, but could not find out the point of her reaction. Arya had been very careful not to hurt his emotions but made clear that they could never be lovers. His love meant close to nothing to her. He had been thinking about his words and her words and his actions and hers since he had come back but found out nothing. He just lay there and felt pain and obtuseness.

He tried to forget her, to see her as any other woman, to bury his emotions, his love, his adoration. He knew he would not succeed, but still tried and tried again, if somehow the gods would feel pity for him, and destroy his love. He desperately tried to get free of the love and the pain this love caused for him.

His soul suffered. The pain was almost unbearable. Not only mentally, but physically too. He felt as if somebody had run a knife into his heart and now it was being revolved. _Why does it have to hurt _so_ much? This is the worst thing I have ever felt. Is _this_ love? Endless pain? _

_Little one… _

_I'm sorry, Saphira, I did wake you, didn't I?_

_You should not separate yourself of me. Your pain is mine._

_Yes, this was the exact reason. I just… _Then suddenly all his inhibition was gone and bitterness flew through the mental bind connecting them. _What should I do? What should I say her? I do not want to apologize, I wanted to do good and did wrong, but what was wrong? Why do I always act wrong? I cannot change it, I cannot change myself, and she… she simply… _He came to an abrupt halt. He turned away, but Saphira could see the tears in his eyes. _He was crying._ Crying because of love. Yes, it was too much for her rider to accept, to bear. The elf had been cruel and did nothing to clear herself. She _was_ guilty. _How could I live with it?_

The dragon would have bet that she was sleeping peacefully while Eragon is suffering. She would punish her though. She had time. She was immortal as well as Eragon… Oh, no, early in the morning tomorrow. She would pay for this pain. She could be an elf, could be a princess, could be her rider's love; but she had no right to do this.

_You should remember what you was thinking in the afternoon. You were happy with the know that whatever she does or does not, you will accept and don't feel pity. What you did and said was a good act and I cannot see any point of her laughter either. Maybe her thoughts were the ones making her laugh. _Eragon sighed. His dragon's comforting thoughts eased some on the pain gripping hard his heart.

_Say me what to do._

_I cannot help you, little one. However, I think you should ask her about it. Maybe she has some explanation for the… er,… incident. She has better have. And now sleep some. You will have a long day. You will have to go to the council and to many meetings and hear the people talking about nothing, you remember._

Eragon moaned. This whole meeting-thing completely slipped his mind. He left his room to hide under Saphira's wing. There he could feel her heartbeat and the warmth of her body. It was comforting, much more than he would have thought it. He was stupid thinking that she should not be concerned in his love affairs. Of course she should be. They were together and they needed to share _everything_. The dragon started to hum silently. He let her comfort him and fell asleep, still with pain in his chest.

She was thinking about it for some time. Eragon did not ask her to help, he separated his mind and pain of her. It was a bad thing and Saphira decided not letting him do it again. She pleasantly sighed since she knew Eragon in the safe and warmth of her wing.

Eragon could only rest a little until dawn. He slept restlessly although he was very tired. His dreams were hazy and troubled. However, the last one was other, real-like and made his muscles stiffen.

_»At the root of an old oak, a young girl is sleeping. She is not peaceful, she has had a restless night. She can lie there: nobody is in the forest far and away except a horse. It is tied to the tree next to her oak and looks at least as exhausted as the girl. _

_The light turns to red and the top of the sun is already above the horizon when the girl begin to awake. She throws a glance at her ankle which is covered by a large white bandage then at the protruding bag in her lap. She hugged it tightly in her sleep. She reaches into the bag to have some breakfast. The girl chews thoughtfully her bread. She sighs, then reaches into the bag one more time…«_

_Wake up, little one._

It took Eragon some minutes to realize where he was. The girl with deep blue eyes disappeared and Saphira's snout replaced it. The dragon was worriedly nudging him. He blinked some then screamed loudly frightening the dragon. 'Saphira, I found out! I finally found out! Since the Agaethí Blödhren I don't sleep the way I had before, this is why it took so long. Arya, of course!... '

Saphira became yet more nervous. Did her rider get crazy? Arya? Yes, it was natural that this was her fault too, but… What was going on exactly?! Eragon was running back to his room and started to get dressed. As he tried to put on his trousers, he measured out his length on the floor, but did not stop. Saphira found the time had come for stepping in. She leaned in the room, above the rider growling and let some smoke escape her nostrils.

Eragon laughed and feeling pity, she diagnosed him with lunacy.

'I have dreamt about this girl several times but I always forgot about it after I woke. My dreaming method changed with the Agaethí Blödhren and I didn't know why she remember me Arya…' Eragon explained.

_But now… _Saphira helped. Maybe it would turn out he was not _totally_ crazy.

'I had dreamt of her exactly this way… But if this is real, like Arya was…'

…_then who is that girl?_

'She seemed to have some injury… But she is so young. It isn't probable that she had fought. She must be an extraordinary girl. But what is she doing in a forest with only a horse as her company?' Saphira couldn't answer either, but she reminded him of the meetings. They could find out it later.

Eragon grew impatient the moment they stepped into the palace. He hated every meetings of this sort. And he wanted to clear things with Arya.

The woman was already in the room when they entered. Her eyes glinted as she gazed at Eragon. She lightly smiled and Eragon felt a hard rock moving into his stomach. It was a sign, but it took him some time to realize; anything had happened between them, they had to act as everything was in normal. This smile was to remind him of that. He somehow managed to smile back. He walked by the large table in the middle of the room, towards its other end where Nasuada and Orrin sat. As he walked by Arya, he skipped the formal elven greeting and bowed his head. They looked into each other's eyes and said at the same time:

'Shadeslayer.'

'Shadeslayer.' Their mouth moved perfectly together. They smiled and he sat down to his place at the other side of the table.

'I thought you had grown tired of that.' Nasuada remarked shaking her head when he greeted her. Orrin grinned at him. 'If they find it amusing, why not?'

'It _is_ amusing.' Eragon said.

Nasuada cleared her throat. 'But now if we could begin… The first is the question of…' Eragon listened to her for some time, but very soon, he grew impatient and tired. It was exactly the way Saphira predicated: they were talking and arguing about nothing, but this nothing lasted for hours. Some time he nodded or answered shortly, but otherwise he didn't get involved. Everybody seemed to be content with his appearance though. They only needed his presence not his opinion.

He watched Arya from the corner of his eye. The elf seemed to be looking at him too, not moving her head. They should talk. He cast a glance at the speaker: he was describing the urgent need of a whole new set of clothes for the elderly of his guild. He glanced back on Arya. She obviously found out his thought because her mind brushed his.

_Could we talk later? I want to apologize for yesterday's._

_Why later, why not now?_

_Later. I would prefer to talk to you privately and personally._

_Later then. I think once they have to finish this, haven't they? _Desperation could be heard in his voice. He saw Arya soundlessly chuckling for a moment. _You should have heard that meetings about Saphira's egg. Humans can be very funny. But I must admit I heard very long ago such an… interesting… interpretation like this we-want-new-clothes-thing. _She chuckled again and turned towards the speaker.

_As I said. It seems she has an explanation. You shouldn't have been so… desperate._ Saphira said.

_You were eavesdropping?!_

_You can't blame me for it. It is the only noteworthy thing for hours. And I wanted to hear her too. I was… worried._

_I'm fine. _After that they were chatting, not paying much attention to what was going on. The sun reached and left its highest point and they still hadn't found a moment when Eragon and Arya could talk. Late in the afternoon Nasuada gave them some break. They headed towards the gardens surrounding the palace. _Finally,_ Eragon thought.

'Eragon!' The sound was familiar and beloved. And at the moment very much hated. He turned unwillingly towards his brother.

'Roran! What are you doing here?' _You don't want to talk right now! You don't want to come here! You want to go home to Katrina! _He prayed and cursed inside.

'Well, I hoped to find you and I wanted to ask you about the mourning and… But do I disturb you right now?' He stopped seeing his cousin's face. 'You have said you will have time between the meetings…?'

'Yes, I did, but actually…'

'I'm sorry I didn't know you had other programs, Eragon. I think you should talk to your cousin though. We can speak about it another time.' The rider was watching Arya go away and was thinking about a family murder. A torturous murder.

'Huh, what was that? It was something important, wasn't it? Maybe I shouldn't have…'

' Yes, it was and yes, you shouldn't have. But the harm is already done so you could speak about it as well.' Eragon replied bluntly. He had forgotten about this too. Roran had said him and it was not really his fault, but he was angry. Some people from Carvahall who were fighting in the siege of Feinster, died. Their mourning was what they should have spoken about.

It was not an uninteresting issue for Eragon, but now he could hardly listen to his cousin. When he returned to the meeting-room, Arya was already there. A new wave of vital importance and serious issues started and Eragon thought he stood up and sprang out through the window screaming. He was tired and the whole conversation held no interest for him. He closed his eyes_. It's so… annoying and boring._

The speaker stopped mid-sentence. 'Lord Eragon, do I bore you?'

'Of course not. It is very interesting, it's just that I can concentrate better this way.' Eragon threw a smile at him. _Well, I can sleep without closing my eyes too. I'll take a nap. Wake me if anything happens._

Saphira chuckled. _Of course, little one._

_»A black horse is galloping through a field. On its back, there is a human body lying. The dark clothes are slightly painted reddish brown by clotted blood. Now the shape lifts its head. A young girl with wide blue eyes, her dark hair fell in curls round her heart-shaped face, her skin smooth alabaster. Her expression tortured, she seems to be in pain. She looks around disoriented, then she corrects some on the direction._

_Suddenly some strange noise appears. _Dump. Dump. Dump. _The girl's face turns both doubtful and frightened. It's dragonwings' flutter in the air. She looks behind her back. A red dragon flies at the bottom of the horizon behind her. Towards her. _

_Murtagh._

_Her breathe is hardening. She reaches into the bag hanging from the neck of the horse. She takes her hand out with a large green rock in it. She holds the dragon egg tight to her chest and tries to gallop faster. Desperation is on her face. The rider is not far away.«

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**Author's Note: **Well, it's not very likely to update in this week one more time... I know, I'm very sorry and will try to make myself some free time 'cause it's not really a winning system writing when I should study... :D Anyways, I will update. I simply don't know when... Review if you liked and have the amount of time to type something.

Amiréa


	7. Chapter 6 What is love?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, the names, the characters, the style (etc.) of it or any relating rights, Christopher Paolini does. I own only the general idea of _this_ story. The following story is my (first) fanfiction based on Christopher Paolini's books and is only for the entertainment of both me and my occasional readers. Do not copy without my permission (if you should want to - lol).

I have no time and had no time so I'm specially sorry for all the mistakes, there must be a lot. Huh, I have to get dressed... Well, enjoy.

**Edit **(09/19/09): There were many mistakes so I have to change it. I hope it's better now.

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**Chapter 6 – What is love?**

Arya was sitting in her tent, silently cursing. _Good work, princess. _She didn't want it, she didn't mean it. It was not her fault. It was _their_ fault. It must be _their_ fault. She sighed. _Clear your head and think!_

Eragon had caught her off guard. His love evidence had surprised her, she was not able to put on her neutral _I'm-the-ambassador-of-the-elves-and-egg-carrier_ face. When she carried Saphira's egg in Alagaesia, she had had to get used to some circumstances and surprising events. After seventy years of being an ambassador for the elves, living amongst humans and dwarfs, in the middle of a dark, hopeless age, she had got used to things. She was able to look at the world without batting an eyelid no matter how unforeseen event happened.

But these two love evidences cut the ground from under her feet.

_Love_.

What a strange feeling. She wondered what it did even with the toughest warriors. Ancient sadness covered her emotions. She had never felt such love. Not for a person at least. She hazily remembered the time when she was a child and everything was so… other. It was her father's death that changed everything. She had lost the touch with her mother: Islanzadí preferred to mourn alone not letting her daughter in on her feelings.

She had been left alone. She had lost her mother as well. Loneliness had been strange. Now, she could exactly see the point of it, but then she had even felt shame of her unhappiness. The elves were not like humans, they did not share their thoughts. She would have needed somebody she could talk with about it, but she was alone, a lonely princess buried deep into the forests.

This was the only one thing that she had loved with all her heart's warmness: her home. Her country, not her people. When she decided to leave Du Weldenvarden, she deadly quarrelled with her mother. They had not had the best relationship before that either, but after the young princess refused to obey her and had the tattoo painted on her shoulder, the queen had not accepted her daughter's choice. Arya had been stubborn and had not apologized. Her death was needed for the queen to realize her mistake, but it was too late then. The stubborn princess let her mother feel that she had not forgiven her.

She loved the forest though, and was happy wih the idea of serving it with her deeds; but she did not know the emotions people could share. Fäolin, her accompany on her journeys, had been the first one that she got close to: the elf had been understanding and had not wanted to judge her. They had been only friends though, but as friends the closest. She did not know _love_. Not the one between man and woman.

She had seen people in love of course, but she had no personal experiences. Arya denied the people who could feel it. Most people seemed so happy, most people had a mate with whom they could share everything. Must people but not her. The elven songs had told her about unhappy, aching, torturing loves. But she attributed it mainly to the bards' fantasy. However, Eragon seemed to feel this pain. She held him in great esteem and would willingly punish the one causing him such a pain – if it had not been herself.

She tried not to cause him even more than necessary. Arya felt some unfamiliar tenderness towards the Dragon Rider: she knew he would be disappointed many times at the world, he would experience many things, he would suffer much. His fate was not a light path but a hard, difficult and dangerous journey. She could only hope that bitterness would not find him and deform his personality. It would be too much a waste. He had utopias about good and evil. But the realization would be painful and there was no use for her to spoil more.

The crazy man was the point. That crazy human who could not stay… wherever he had been, who had had to make her off-guarded against Eragon. Pity filled her heart: he might have misunderstood.

Cursing one more time, she escaped her tent, almost falling through Blödhgarm.

'I'm sorry, I have not noticed you, my princess.' He cleared his throat. 'If I may ask, what are you doing here? Can I help you something?'

'_I_ am sorry. And no, thank you, I just wanted to look around and see if everything is in order.' She smiled to calm him down but she did not know how much he believed her._ I bet I'm not the only one reporting to Islanzadí,_ she thought as she turned on her heels.

So, tonight she was not able to go outside another time. What was he doing there anyways? She was nervous and could not sleep. _It's not good I'm so worried. And what if he misunderstood? It's ridiculous. If he misunderstood, I will apologize and end of story. Why should I worry so much? I really need some relax time. It's that Grûlthar's fault. _

After a time she understood she was not going to sleep this night. She sighed and sat up on her bed. Maybe she could use this time and not just lay there. It had no sense. The most important question is what to do with Eragon next time. How should she act?

She remembered the man's words one more time. She unintentionally compared his words to her newest admirer's. The dragon rider had said much less words than the human, but those words hadn't been empty; they had held power. Power that made her shiver now exactly like that time.

_He is only a young man though, he did not know…_ But she was not able to finish the sentence. She never lied herself. If she herself not then who would tell her the truth? It was just a moment ago that she thought of Grûlthar (and only of him!) as a human. The rider was much more like an elf. And he also got more and more like by the time passing. He was also immortal.

Her former reasons could not stand. They couldn't really even stand the time they had been said. He was already distracted by her refusal, no matter what she did, it would distract him.

_But I can't offer him anything. I can't love him. And I wouldn't even realize if I was in love for cry out loud! He was so understanding and loving today… _Her heart ached to have to refuse him, but she was not able to feel love. It was strange and unknown for her. He acted like an adult today… or better say yesterday. Yet more than an adult. He had been responsible and kind. He didn't want to force his love on her. He seemed to… accept it. _He was serious. Completely serious, meaning each word he said. He truly loves me. _It made her tremble a little. It was an entirely new feeling; being able to trust somebody, to know somebody loved her, somebody wanted her with her every flaw of character or imperfection. It was strange but pleasant and comforting. She just enjoyed this new feeling for a time.

'He truly loves me.' She whispered to the night. She lay back on her bed and when she fell asleep she was smiling. She had soft and light dreams.

When she woke up, she felt free and pleasant, her heart was easy. It was unusual. She was in a good mood when she got dressed and prepared for the meetings. These were not able to ruin her mood either. She felt fresh and energetic and wondered the point but then let it go. Eragon loved her. And this… changed a lot. Mentally, she frowned and the more conscious part of her mind asked what it mattered, what this changed as she had known this for months and felt more badly than well about it, but she didn't listen to this part of hers.

She walked in the morning sunshine and felt the living energy and power surrounding her. However, she put on her ambassador-of-the-elves face and got serious when she arrived the meeting room. She would have to speak to Eragon. Maybe in their minds… But… It might have been better if they have been alone and not before ones' curious eyes._ At some break then,_ she decided.

When the man arrived, Arya felt her heart beat faster and her joy made her smile at him. Her sharp elven eyes were able to see him faintly blush. He hesitated a moment then smiled back, but it was not honest. Arya knew well his expressions and this smile was not the real, carefree emotion he would smile at her some times. It was not perfect.

When he reached to her, he slightly bowed his head. It was his usual habit and it was not only for her but for every woman. She was astonished how much little information she noted about him. They had a special greeting of their own since she killed the second Shade.

'Shadeslayer.'

'Shadeslayer.' She enjoyed it but Nasuada seemed to be a bit annoyed.

People looked at Arya other way than before and she could feel what Eragon meant about 'nothing specially heroic' complaining about the ballads that had been sung about him. At that moment, killing the Shade had not been so… special. And Eragon helped her too –at least they were now in quits: first Arya was the one directing its attention to herself, now Eragon. Together, they were stronger.

Saphira entered her mind. She could feel her fury.

_You have better have an explanation for the incident yesterday. Eragon was… in pain._

So she had been right. She had hurt him. _Poor Eragon, he should love somebody more worthy of his adoration. _She realized only afterwards that Saphira was listening to her, but now she was not able to change it any more.

_Hmm. Do you love him? _She asked thoughtfully. She mentally flinched. How could she explain her feelings to the dragon? She didn't even herself know what she was feeling. _I… respect him._

_But you don't think of him as a man._

_No… I don't._

_Did you give your heart to somebody else? _Saphira asked gently. _I know this is a rude question, but I have to know._

_No, there isn't anybody having my heart. _Arya felt pain and deserve to be able to say the contrary. She glanced at Eragon. He was seeming quite calm, not like a man under the desperate pain of his unrequited love. But she could see it to be just a play. His muscles were stiff and he sat at his seat as he was waiting for a sign to get up and run to war. He took a glance at her; he was not so practised as Arya, this I-watch-somebody-from-the-corner-of-my-eyes thing was visibly new for him. She felt a sudden urge to tell him everything and comfort him. She fought herself for a moment then softly touched his mind.

_Could we talk later? I want to apologize for yesterday's._

_Why later, why not now?_

_Later. I would prefer to talk to you privately and personally. _It was too harsh but the deserve to comfort him right now became more insistent frightening her.

_Later then. I think once they have to finish this, haven't they? _Desperation could be heard in his voice. Arya chuckled for a moment. He was so naive and so… lovely. Her mood turned joyful again. _You should have heard that meetings about Saphira's egg. Humans can be very funny. But I must admit I heard very long ago such an… interesting… interpretation like this we-want-new-clothes-thing. _Eragon was wearing such an expression! War? Fighting? No matter - just meetings not! She chuckled again and turned towards the speaker.

The sun reached and left its highest point and they still hadn't found a moment when Eragon and Arya could talk. Late in the afternoon Nasuada gave them some break. They headed towards the gardens surrounding the palace. Arya felt suddenly very nervous. All the time the speakers changed and talked and argued, she was searching for the best solution to tell him the truth. And didn't find any. Not the best. She wanted to turn around and run away_. _Her pride still would not let her go. _Why did I have to _laugh_? _She softly sighed. It was not going to be easy.

'Eragon!' The sound was faintly familiar for her. She was too concerned to her problem to realize at first, but then she turned with Eragon (he visibly unwillingly) towards his brother.

'Roran! What are you doing here?' _Coward!, _a voice screamed inside her head but she didn't care. Maybe…

'Well, I hoped to find you and I wanted to ask you about the mourning and… But do I disturb you right now?' He stopped seeing his cousin's face. Arya almost laughed loudly. Just a crazy would not able to see the anger on his well-controlled face… or a human. He tried to keep his face smooth but his emotions were clear. 'You have said you will have time between the meetings…?' Did he really miss the flashing sign of his nervousness? He, the brother of his who had known him for long years, longer and closer than anybody else? Was it really only her who saw it?

'Yes, I did, but actually…'

Arya felt the time perfect to step in. 'I'm sorry, I didn't know you had other programs, Eragon. I think you should talk to your cousin though. We can speak about it another time.' As she walked away she was strangely aware of his eyes staring her. Going she could hear Roran's voice behind her back.

'Huh, what was that? It was something important, wasn't it? Maybe I shouldn't have…' She didn't understand what Eragon replied but it couldn't be too jolly.

It was him arriving later again. Arya had no better thing to do so she watched the people around the large table, mostly Eragon. If they would have asked her about what had been going on, she would have had a precise answer though. She had learnt how to pay attention with a slight part of her mind.

At the half of the meeting he closed his eyes_. _The speaker stopped mid-sentence. 'Lord Eragon, do I bore you?'

'Of course not. It is very interesting, it's just that I can concentrate better this way.' Eragon threw a smile at him with an affected intonation. Next time Arya glanced at him, his eyes were opened but she could see he was deep in sleep. His vacant look was fixed on the wood of the table. She looked around but nobody noticed the rider's nap besides her.

She was listening to the speaker when she heard him gasp and as she glanced at him, her eyes could only find his vacant seat. The rider was rushing towards the large windows screaming in a loud voice, his face full with dread and anger. Saphira, who had been leaning in the room through one of the windows so far, was now outside, fluttering her wings.

She instinctively stood up to follow them. Eragon sprang through the window not even stopping. Splinters flew in the air as she ran after him. He drew his sword and sprang and ran to the saddle on her back. Arya screamed being barely able to follow him. She fell as Saphira lifted into the air but she caught a thorn on her spine and succeeded to stay upon her. The ground moved away with incredible speed and Arya was frightened of falling off. Somehow she managed to climb to the saddle where Eragon was sitting and quickly binding the straps around his legs.

She sat down behind him and hung on to him. Feinster was far behind them and Arya didn't know where they were heading or why. She only knew that she would faint or throw up or both the time she could feel ground again under her feet.

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Oh, yeah, and I have a poll at my profile. I would thank you if you voted.

Amiréa


	8. Chapter 7 Sacrificed life

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, the names, the characters, the style (etc.) of it or any relating rights, Christopher Paolini does. I own only the general idea of _this_ story. The following story is my (first) fanfiction based on Christopher Paolini's books and is only for the entertainment of both me and my occasional readers. Do not copy without my permission (if you should want to - lol).

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**Please, read me. **Sometimes writers get desperate. Desperate that what they are writing isn't good at all, and these times the writers try to force the readers to review and to tell their opinion. Sometimes writers have to use drastic means. I don't want to be forced to use those means. I don't want to be so desperate.

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**Chapter 7 – Sacrificed life**

Death. The exact thing she had wanted. Hope is the one causing pain the people. She hoped to get free of the king. And now when she should have felt disappointed, she only felt tired. Tired of the war and killing and death and fight. And if it have been death that would save her – then she wanted to die.

The fear disappeared as if her mind would have known she was not going to go to a wrong place but to a happy and new world. A peaceful world. It was the only thing she wanted. Living in peace, without the fear of getting killed.

_I _will_ kill you._ Poor Murtagh. He had chosen the wrong way. He had not been brave enough to kill himself but she was. She was brave. _Being suicide is not braveness. It's called stupidity. _She didn't listen to him. Peace was close.

She stared into the deep crimson eyes of the huge dragon. One of them was the size of the hidden dragon egg. She could see the pain in them. The pain of a trapped creature. _If there's any god on this earth, help this poor little dragon to get free and be far away of Galbatorix and… of Murtagh. This is my only wish. If there's a god above this earth, help my dragon to get free. Help him be away… _She prayed. She barely heard Murtagh's words. _This is my only wish…_

_Your only wish will be death when I torture you. You will be begging. You're a traitor._

_Help him get free and…_

_You betrayed your king. Your home! Your country! _

…_be away of the dark king ruining this land…_

_Your uncle! You betrayed me, you caused us pain and punishment and you're going to pay for it!_

…_and my uncle who helps him do making his soul darker than moonless night… Please…_

_You hear me? I am going to torture you!_

_This is my only wish… Help my poor dragon to get free…_

_It was not my decision! You can't blame me for it!_

…_help him to find Eragon… to discover his world… to find peace…_

_He isn't more peaceful than I am! _

_Help him free this land…Please, Eragon …_

_He isn't a god! He's nobody! _

_This is my only wish… If there's a god caring for this earth…_

_Enough! _Some magic shook her with pain and her thoughts vanished from her mind. _Enough. _The eyes of the dragon mirrored his rider's emotions. Dark red poles with anger in them.

Her head was spinning she felt dizzy. At first she thought her mind would be merciful and she would faint another time, but the pain kept her awake. Her whole foot ached as if it have been going to burn in the fire filling her body. She knew she had lost much blood, but it still wasn't enough to kill her at last. She was dependent on his mercy.

_You're my uncle. How can you that with me?_

_You're only a little girl. What have you thought where you go? And I had better not consider you my niece. You're dead anyways. _

'I'm alive!' she shouted. _Kill me, please kill me at last. _

He laughed bitterly. _The king said me to take you back alive. He will punish me if I don't obey him._ Her heart sank. No, there was no way she went back to serve him, to be his servant or prisoner… No, she was not going to go back. No way. _But you betrayed me… and your life isn't precious enough. _His next smile was bitter, hatred filled his voice. _Don't think it would be precious for them either. When I was in their camp, I was innocent and they hated and gossipped about me and didn't trust me just because I was the son of Morzan. They held me in prison just because I was the son of Morzan._

The sudden fear and doubt was more painful than his magic was. What if he spoke the truth? No matter. She was going to die before she could meet her true uncle. Come what should come.

_True uncle? How funny! So I'm not your true uncle? But Eragon, the man you have never met, he is. He's your hero just because you don't like me or better say the way I'm forced to be. Lovely. You'll never meet him though, I won't let you any chances for it. And there's no use for just stand here with our goal uncompleted, is there?_

He glanced at his dragon and Thorn lifted into the air. _The fire of the dragons burns everything. You, your clothes and everything I don't need. There'll be no harm of the egg, though. _

The red beast was right above her. She caressed the neck of the poor mare. She could not tear her eyes away just stared at the huge dragon as his scales sparkled in the evening light. It was a fascinating image to be the last. She wanted to close her eyes but some force didn't let her do. The beast opened his mouth.

Suddenly, a large blue brand crushed against the monstrous red dragon. Was she dreaming? Her whole body felt as if she have been in fire because of her injury. Her head was spinning. Did she hallucinate? What happened to her murderer?

Thorn was captured by… by a large sapphire dragon… by Saphira…? Could it be? Could it be real? A man sat in the saddle… Now the shape straightened…

She understood at last. Her mind was tricking her. It was too much: hope, Murtagh, despair, pain and desire… Her mind gave her what she had wanted, it let her see Eragon, painting him before her eyes just as if he have been real.

The dragons fought on the ground trying to bit into the other's neck. Murtagh used some red-lighted magic to hurt Saphira's tail which was slapping the side of Thorn's big body. She was quite far but she still could hear the dragon's roar. Saphira had the surprise with her and Thorn was also hurt from the meeting with the ground when Saphira's weight pressed him against the ground digging up the soil in their way. Red and blue mixed in the fight. They flied up again into the air. One moment and the dragons were high above in the sky.

She didn't see anything just a blue-red blur. It was so far it seemed just a dot among the clouds. They lifted and sank back. She knew she should have escaped the situation but she was not able to move as she had been rooted into her place. Eragon came closer, his dragon flying above her head with one graceful movement, making a loud whooshing sound.

The dragons seemed to decided to stay at the ground. Eragon sprang down of the saddle and healed an injury on her side. Another shape moved on her back and not the least bit gracefully staggered down of Saphira. Eragon didn't look at the other one, he was watching Murtagh.

The girl's gaze followed _her_ steps. The shape was a woman although she wore trousers and a sword bound to her belt. They were not far, she could see her dark hair and an exquisite but pale face. Her body was perfect and she must have been attract men's eyes wherever she went. Her beauty was somehow unfamiliar and strange. She brushed her hair off of her face. And her suspicion was proved: she was not human. She had pointed ears.

She was an elf.

A living, breathing elf.

The elf shook her head and stepped closer to Eragon and Murtagh. They stared at each other, concentration knitting their brows. They held their swords in their hands and now, to some invisible sign they started to spar with slow movements, swishing their blades carefully. She wondered why they didn't spar with their natural speed, why with these cautious blows. The woman straightened and stepped closer. She didn't think for a moment she would intervene despite her sword. She took her hand at his shoulder and sank to the same weird concentration as the men.

What were they doing? Why didn't they fight? Why just stand there? She didn't know either. The woman unsheathed her blade too. Suddenly the spar became more violent. Saphira and the other dragon fought further. A painful howl let them know that one of them took the advantage. They parted and hurried towards the sparring riders.

But when Thorn got closer, he changed his direction and headed towards… towards _her_. The huge beast rushed exactly towards her and suddenly so did everybody. The spar didn't continue – they ran towards her too. It took her a moment to understand: it was the egg they headed towards, not her. Fear filled her, then anger. How dared they?! This egg was going to be free!

Saphira was not able to catch him and nobody was between her with the egg and the crimson dragon. She closed her eyes.

The next thing she heard was the angry roar of the dragon. When she opened her eyes she could see the elf standing before the dragon, her sword halfway to his heart. He howled and turned his head to kill her with one of his thorns. She hurried to close her eyes again not being able to see the death of the exquisite creature but she was not fast enough. Crimson blood painted her vision and she could feel tears well up and run down her cheeks. The image of her blood burnt onto her eyelids.

She heard her tortured screech and knew this sound would chase her until her death. She could hear Eragon's gasp and painful shriek. She could hear Murtagh's… laugh. Although she feared of what she may have seen, she opened her eyes to stare into those deep red poles. Anger filled her whole body as she saw the victorious light in them.

Somebody shouted and she realized that it was her. Hatred erased everything of her and suddenly she felt some strange power overwhelming her. The dragon was deadly close, she still didn't feared. She wished Thorn died.

'Jierda!' The world went red and white in front of her eyes but after a moment blackness came to cover her with a soft quilt and she left all pain behind dancing to another world in which her consciousness wasn't able to bother her with painful things any longer. Finally her peace came and she accepted it gratefully.

The servant of Galbatorix died.

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**Author's Note - please read:**

I swore I would not beg for reviews, but you don't know what an effect a no-reviewed chapter has. BTW I enabled **anonymous reviews** (er, yes, I haven't see it was disabled). And there is the poll at my profile, you can vote if you don't want to write. _No matter that what you write is positive or negative, I'll be happy with it._ I swear.

You may be smiling to yourselves and just let it go. You might think _she is so crazy, of course her story is good, what could I write her anyways._

But inside, the writers (or at least me) aren't so sure, they are not sure you enjoy it, you want it, you like it. They think _OMG, and if they didn't understand? And if they don't like it? What if they feel this chapter ruined everything_, _what if they don't even read it, and __all __those people just took a glance on it? I don't even know that my grammar is okay, for cry out loud! _

And so the writer doesn't write more chapters. She will look for another thing she can be successful in, knowing she is successful.

And this is the place where I must notice that **'those who don't have this shirt, don't put in on'** as it's said here by us, so large **'thank you'** for Aussie surfer, Elvendiath and Solangedrama who review every single chapter and keep me writing. *clap your hands*

**Amiréa**

**PS** I don't want to force anybody or to use psychical terrorism, I would just love to know your opinion. So, if you feel that you're terrified and fear that I will be story-terrorist, you can review. And also in the case you liked it.

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	9. Chapter 8 Recluse

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, the names, the characters, the style (etc.) of it or any relating rights, Christopher Paolini does. I own only the general idea of _this_ story. The following story is my (first) fanfiction based on Christopher Paolini's books and is only for the entertainment of both me and my occasional readers. Do not copy without my permission (if you should want to - lol).

* * *

**Chapter 8 - Recluse**

Soft light shone into the room. The green leaves in front of the window softened the faint twilight sunshine. A breeze made the corner of of the long white quilt shudder. The girl's dark curls trembled. There was no noise besides the chant of the birds outside in the garden. A man sat at the side of the bed and held the young girl's tiny hand in his large and strong one. Her face was peaceful, she breathed softly, moving a stray ringlet with every air-take.

She felt a light hand brushing her ringlet out of her face. She opened her eyes. The world was so… other, so peaceful around her, she didn't realize where she was. She wanted to ask the man leaning close to her face but he found out her thoughts and answered in a gentle voice.

'Peace, little girl. You are in safe. You are in Feinster, at the camp of the Varden.'

She looked around and couldn't believe him, it was so incredible. 'I… thought a camp is something… dirty and… uncomfortable…' She managed to whisper, but after a moment she took fright at her sentence. She shouldn't have criticised him! But the man just chuckled and nodded.

'This is my cottage not far of the town.' He seemed to be embarrassed about something and sighed. 'I'm very sorry, but… I still don't know your name, miss. ' He smiled apologizingly.

The girl flushed. Nobody had called her 'miss' in her life. Not in her _former_ life. But the servant of Galbatorix died. She pondered over it, then decided. 'Call me Amiréa… my lord.' Her new life deserved a new name.

'Eragon.' He said. 'Call me simply Eragon. Nothing my lord, please.' He explained seeing the girl's uncomprehending expression.

'Ah, er… right.' They were silent for some moments. Amiréa was concerned with her hazy memories and thoughts and Eragon seemed to be comfortable with silence. Her mind was slow and foggy. After a time she took a glance at Eragon hesitatingly.

'Yes?' He asked kindly.

'I can… remember only blood and… ' Her voice broke. 'Would you… Would you please say me what happened… happened to my… my dragon and to that… that elf?' Her tears welled up again like that time at the plain.

'To Arya?' He murmured to himself. 'I suppose 'your dragon' means the egg? It is in safe now. Arya was seriously hurt, but her injuries are healed now. She heals fast, you know. It seemed worse than it was in reality. Not like you. You scared me to death with your little scene. When I got back to the camp, I was carrying two female bodies seeming dead.' He chuckled again. 'But the reward was great…' He turned serious, but her face remained calm and light. 'Do you feel well enough to tell me how you got the egg? I'm quite curious. It's not an everyday-event.'

_Your life isn't precious enough. Don't think it would be precious for them either. When I was in their camp, I was innocent and they hated and gossipped about me and didn't trust me just because I was the son of Morzan. They held me in prison just because I was the son of Morzan. _Eragon waited calmly. Should she lie? She opened her mouth but was not able to say it out loud. Truth or nothing. She took a deep breathe.

'I'm your… your niece.' She stopped, waiting for the effect of her words.

'Mph.'

'The grandchild of… of Morzan.' Eragon seemed to sink deep in thought and she didn't say more. _At least I've seen him in real. Everybody would feel strange in his place. He doesn't need somebody remembering him his traitor father. He doesn't need a little girl in the middle of a war. Nobody would blame him for it._

'Morzan wasn't my father.' He looked deep into her eyes. 'I'm the son of a man named Brom. Me and Murtagh are only half-brothers.' Her first thought was that this couldn't be real. She was dreaming, he was telling lies. But she knew this was the truth. Nothing but the truth.

'But…' Eragon waited until she glanced back at him with her wet eyes. 'I would be happy to call my niece a girl like you, little Amiréa.' His voice was soft and kind as he leaned forward to kiss her on her forehead. He caressed her cheeks and wiped the tears away. She caught his hand and held it tight to her face closing her eyes. She couldn't believe it, but cried from the possibility at the same time.

The man smiled sadly. He lifted the quilt and lay next to the girl. She had no time to fear, to consider what she should do if he wanted to touch her otherwise. He took her in his arms carressing her back. She buried her head deep in his chest, hugging him tightly. He murmured something then started to hum a strange lullaby.

_Well, you've done it. Now, in the middle of the war, you have a niece to care about too. And if you die?_

_Enough, Saphira. I've felt what living without a true family means. She deserves better. I had Garrow and Roran at least, but she doesn't have anybody on earth besides me. You're just being jealous._

_I know… I can see your feelings, remember. I cannot be jealous even just for a little time. You must do what you're doing, otherwise you would blame yourself for a time like forever afterwards, I know this and I know you. You always do that. But… This is going to be very hard. Such a little girl can cause a lot of problems. _She suddenly smiled pleasantly. _We will have time, though. Nasuada considers to stop the war until the egg hatches._

_It can be a very long time._

We _have time. _

Eragon looked at the dark ringlets whirling under his fingers. _I wouldn't mind some peace, _He sighed. The girl curled to his chest in her sleep.

_I know you're offended, but how long do you plan to play the recluse? Or better say the orphan-nursing offended little rider who decided to lead the life of a recluse?_

_Do you have any problem with it? _Eragon frowned. His dragon would be not so critical with her little rider.

Saphira slapped her tail. _I talked to Arya._

_What?! Why? When?… How?_

_Well, I told them that I want to get in. Some… days ago. _He raised his eyebrows.

She sighed impatiently.

_»The woman was lying on her bed. Her face was pale as snow and seemed very old and tired. Her eyes were closed but when Saphira entered, she shuddered. _'Well, there might have been some noise with my arrival, but I'm not a little mouse, so I don't think anybody could blame me for it.' Eragon impatiently nodded. _She opened her eyes and faintly smiled. _

'_Saphira. How are you?'_

'_Better than you, Arya Dröttningu. Atra esterní ono thelduin.'_

'_Please don't. I wanted to talk to Eragon, but…he didn't visit me. And neither you, so far.'_

'_We didn't want to disturb you.' Saphira answered diplomatically. She could smell the heavy scent of illness in the air._

'_So I was right and I'm being held as a prisoner.'_

_The elf standing at the door shook his head intensively. 'Of course not, my princess, how can you think of such things? We just wanted you to be…'_

'_To be what? Nervous? You succeeded. If Eragon isn't somewhere far away, how could you keep him away of me?'_

'_Keep away? Is our presence and company less desirable for you than his would be? My princess, do you think that if we didn't stand into his way, Eragon would sit at your bed?' His voice was bitter and unnaturally rude._

'_Yes, he would.' They answered together with Saphira. The elf seemed offended but didn't say more. 'Where is he?' She whispered._

'_He moved in a cottage some miles further in the south. He's being the personal nurse of that girl.'_

'_Why did he move so far away?' She sensed the most important detail as always._

'_When we returned he was carrying two female bodies both seeming dead. Your mother was talking to Nasuada at that time and… khm she lost her temper seeing her daughter dead. She kept bawling a lot with Eragon, then both she and the present leaders, including Orik and Nasuada. King Orrin was the loudest.' She shrugged making part of the door crack with a loud sound. 'Eragon stood silently for some time but after about twenty minutes he became quite angry and shouted back.' She stopped abruptly._

_Arya held her head in her hands. 'What did he say?' She whispered. _

'_If you allow me…' She nodded and Saphira shared her memories with her. _Eragon shuddered as he heard his own icy voice and angry words again, but watched her memories not letting it disturb him as he was curious about Arya's reaction.

_His voice was cold like ice and sharp like the edge of his sword. 'I'm neither your pet, nor your servant. I have my own want and my own mind. I take all responsibility for all my deeds but I await you to hand me as equal and not as a child. I may be young but I have suffered, learnt and experienced much and enough to be able to make decisions. ' He unsheathed his sword._

_You', He pointed at Nasuada with the sword pretending not to notice the instinctive move of the Nighthawks. 'are my liege-lady and I'm your vassal, but not because I was forced to be, but because I thought and think that you were going to be a good leader of the Varden. I thought and think that you are an adult and handed you as an adult all the time. I trusted you and thought that you trust me as well. Not because we are friends but because you're smart enough and I didn't give a reason for doubt it. You should have known this. You' He turned back to everybody.' should have known that I want downfall of the Empire and Galbatorix._

_You 'He pointed at Orik now.' are my brother by your laws and your servant as well as you're my king. But I was the one helping you to be the king and I trusted you enough to stand by you. Not only because we are friends, but because I knew you would be a good king, helping the Varden and the fall of the Empire. I believed you would never mistrust my words or deeds since Saphira healed the Isidar Mithrim and kept my promise no matter how unbelievable it may have seem. I thought you would believe and trust me whatever I do.'_

_He lifted his sword above his head with two hands making its point be towards the ground. 'You all tried to bind me to yourselves, to own me and my decisions, my power, and you, as leaders don't consider how I may feel. I'm just a weapon in your hands, nothing more. I understand you, but I'm fed up with it.' As he spoke he stabbed Brisingr into the rock in the middle of the meeting-room, and with every word, he pushed it deeper. He was breathing hard. The people had fell to silent around him. 'If and when you decide how you should behave with me and for what you should blame me without asking the reason, then, and only then, come to me with my sword. And that will be the next time when I fight for anybody or for anything great and not for my own life or my beloved ones' lives. I hope Murtagh recovers soon and Thorn doesn't die as he seemed to, to be able to force you to decide what you want.' _

_He threw the bag in front of their feet. 'Do with it what you want.' He stepped close to the mirror from which Islanzadí watched the scene. He used the ancient language and concentrated so much power into his words, that everybody took a step back, although they didn't all understand what they meant. _

'_I love Arya more than my own life and I would gladly die for her.' _Eragon gasped as he saw the faint smile appearing on her pale face to his words. She was beautiful.

'_My mother must be furious.' She sighed._

'_Not only her.' The dragon chuckled. 'And they are quite embarrassed too since they found the third dragon egg in the bag. Your elves are even more furious because now every single person in the camp knows that their hero is in love with you.' «_

He waited for her words or other reaction, but Saphira didn't show more. _And what?_

_Nothing what. I just showed you so that you wouldn't feel so much desire to hurry to her bed and fall to your knees in order to declare your forever-lasting love for her one more time._

Eragon sighed. _I'm sorry that you have to hear and feel all my worries. You're wiser than me. _After that, they didn't argue about it more. Saphira told him everything important she had heard at the egg-meetings.

_How ironical. _Eragon said walking to the yet under-equipped kitchen. _You remember when Arya said that thing about how annyoing the egg-meetings were? Now there will be another ones. _He boiled the water in the tea-kettle with magic. _This recluse-thing couldn't come at better time. I should sit there all day long._

_And now I'm the one sitting there, so what did we win with it? _Eragon made the herbal tea and cooked some soup for dinner. Fighting his distaste he prepared it with meat: the girl needed to eat nutritious meals. _Amiréa, _he corrected himself. He should memorize the name of his dark-hairy niece. He ignored reality with the uncomfortable scents and fled into the shelter of his mind. He was so deep in thought, he broke the plate he was holding when suddenly a frightened screech broke the silence, coming from the room of the young girl.

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**Note: **I update twice a week as a general rule, in every three/four days, but you have written so many reviews, I danced with joy. ^.^ So, as we say here:

Köszönöm. 

Amiréa

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	10. Chapter 9 Tears

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, the names, the characters, the style (etc.) of it or any relating rights, Christopher Paolini does. I own only the general idea of _this_ story. The following story is my (first) fanfiction based on Christopher Paolini's books and is only for the entertainment of both me and my occasional readers. Do not copy without my permission (if you should want to - lol).

**Edit below in Note, please read, if you would like an update**

As I promised:

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**Chapter 9 - Tears**

Arya stood in the back, behind the mourning crowd. She half hid behind a tree and pretended not to notice the constant glares and whispers. One of the elves behind her hissed but she only smiled when a man pointed at her with his finger to show her for his daughter. It was not so much else than the attention she had at the elves.

The others would have found her thoughts offending but she could not see any differences. The elves did it less publicly and stared at her only from the corners of their eyes, but these people were honest at least and didn't hide their feelings. It was the same. Not counting that an elf would remember this in a thousand years, but humans was going to forget it in two weeks. Gossips were not immortal here.

Eragon stood in the front, attracting even more attention than otherwise - if it was possible. He was wearing long trousers and an embroidered coat. His sapphire sheath was at his belt, but only without his sword of course. Brisingr was deep in the rock of the large hall in the palace. She sighed. Eragon did not have an easy life.

The funeral came to the end and the people reluctantly started to home. They stared frequently between Arya and Eragon, but finally they accepted they would not meet or talk. Eragon talked to many leaders and people from his village. They also glared back and forth at them, but nobody saw them even look at each other. They obviously avoided each other's gaze.

Arya lifted the bottom of her long skirt and walked down the hill. Eyes followed her each movement as she headed towards the grouping in the front. The humans stopped and went back to their former places to see what would happen. It was the funeral of the men of Carvahall, but most of the Varden were there. Arya walked silently with a calm expression on her face. She finally reached them and… let them behind walking by without stopping or missing the step.

She soon disappeared in the forest, the same forest she had met Grûlthar in, the same forest she had laughed at Eragon in. Not by want, but by… craziness. She recalled the time he was hugging her waist in the saddle of Saphira. He said it to be less dangerous sitting in front of him, but it was awful. She sat down to the ground on the clearing, to the exact place she had sat that ominous day. Waiting for him, she closed her eyes, and let those images overwhelm her.

_Crimson dragon flying in the air above a lonely rider… Tails, crawls, wings and thorns everywhere, mixed blue and red ones. She can feel the way Saphira fights in her head. She plans every movement carefully, but the other dragon is too strong. Eragon decides the danger of a serious injury is too big… _

_Another lighting-fast lifting, her stomach feels to remain at the plain. She takes a glance down and almost faint… She can feel the crash in her whole body. The fight of the two dragon sin the air. Eragon leans out of the saddle while Saphira is upside down moving in a spiral… _

_Her own screams and fear to fall… Eragon's strong hands around her waist. The warmness of his body, the move of his lungs as his chest is pressed against her back… His every breathe caressing her neck… And once, his muscular thighs pressing hers to the saddle while he uses both hands to spar in the air and stab his knife to a sensitive point of Thorn at the same time…_

_The air whirling around her, her own closed eyes… The pain of Saphira radiating through the mental bind… Dragon-blood falling at her neck, burning it with fire. Eragon whispering spells to defend them of Thorn's fire… Flames around her face, not hurting, only frightening her… The awful feeling through the mental bind, as Saphira attacks and fights… The perfect communication between the Rider and his dragon as their mind is united…_

_Their decision to go to the ground… Eragon using all his strength to push back Murtagh… Their spar during their magic battle… His shoulder under her hand… The energy flowing into him leaving her body… The energy of Aren all using up against the Heart of Hearts in Murtagh's possession…_

_The power being almost equal… The appearing chance of winning, then the sudden roar of Saphira…Thorn running towards the rider and the egg… Her body moving automatically… Her sword sinking deep into his chest… _

_The burning blood flowing onto her hands, burying them to fire… Eragon's spell snatching her away of the main way of the dragon's thorns… The pain biting into her body… The feeling she is being teared apart… Then darkness…_

Arya opened her eyes. She thought she would die. Eragon must have thought she died. He had saved her life, but her mother howled to him about killing her. How was he supposed to feel? What was he thinking? How much did it hurt him? How deep was his pain?

She stood up, not being able to sit any longer. _And he thought I wanted to hurt him by want with my hysterical laughter._

She hallucinated. There could be no other reason. There could be no reason why _he_ should walk towards her. The handsome blond man smiled at her and her fury raised. How dared he?! Grûlthar came closer.

'Ah, so you would come here out, may I think our last conversation is what attracts you here?'

She smiled angrily. 'It was a conversation, but not with you.' She answered in a proud voice.

'Really?' He didn't seem the least bit disappointed. 'I think I've heard something about you and Eragon… You should not let these people gossip about you. I think you could do something to declare he has nothing to do with you.'

'Why do you think 'he has nothing to do' with me? What do you know about me?' Her anger burnt with larger and larger flames. _I will let exactly this nobody say me what to do. _She instinctively compared him once again to Eragon. This man seemed somehow faint next to him. She knew she could trust the Rider. And he trusted her as well. She was in safe with him. She recalled his scent she could smell sitting in front of him. It calmed her down. This man was nobody, it was poor Eragon that she should care about.

The man was talking but Arya wasn't aware of it. She could see Eragon's face in her mind as he stared at her before that last moment Thorn nearly killed her. The world stopped for that single moment and she could see the adoration and love and fear in his eyes. This was the only image ruling her mind for the time she spent unconscious. That forever-like moment she could see everything clear.

She was proud of herself. She could see the pain clearly in Eragon's eyes and swore she would not let anybody feel that pain – no matter how unbearable man it was. She would not break anybody's heart. No more time. So she was proud of herself when she succeeded to say him goodbye with only nine calm words. _You see, nine words you used and his heart is yet unharmed._

She had to wait some time when Eragon finally stepped in the clearing. Part of her would have liked to hurry to him, but she stood silently in the middle of the clearing. She smiled at him, then sat down to a near trunk. Eragon took place beside her and looked at her curiously. It was her that wanted to meet him here, but she didn't know what to say and mainly, how.

'Shadeslayer.' Eragon poked her hand playfully, with a faint smile on his serious face. She smiled back at him widely. 'Saphira said you wanted to meet me.'

'Yes, I did. I just… don't know where to start.' She sighed and fell into silent for some moments. 'Where is that mysterious niece of yours?' She finally asked. 'I suppose there's somebody watching over her?' Eragon waved his hand in resignation.

'With Saphira. She tries to get used to her. She says every time she's 'soo huuuge'.' He grinned. 'They fell in love with first sight. Sapphie can't get enough of her adoration and admiring words.'

'Sapphie?!'

'Yeah. I think she is at the age of these 'cute' words.'

'And Sapphie?' She asked laughing, lifting one of her brows. His face went gloomy. He clenched his fists and stared somewhere very far in the distance.

'We don't know how she lived in Uru'baen, but… we're quite sure that her life was not… suitable for such young children.' He rushed through the words speaking so quickly a human would not have understood. 'She's only twelve and saw… such things she should never have… Saphira tries to be as kind to her as she can. She said Murtagh to be the closest to her but… she have never talked to Thorn and never… even touched a dragon. I… don't know what to do, how to behave, what to say…' He whispered lowering his head. His voice was even and empty.

Arya watched him be in pain just because he didn't know how to behave with a little girl. He didn't even consider to shift the responsibility onto somebody else.

'You will do the best thing.'

'How can you be so sure? What do I know about young children? What do I know about women?' He smiled but his face was not really calm.

'You're a good man, Eragon, maybe the best man I know. You won't hurt her. But you will be hurt every time you feel you did not the best a person could do.' She continued in a soft voice with downcast eyes. 'I hurt you too, although I didn't want to. I hurt you every time. I was… nervous that time. I want to apologize.' As Eragon didn't answer she looked up of the stone her gaze had been fixed on.

'As I said that time, it isn't matter.'

'Isn't matter?'

'Isn't matter. I accept what you can offer me.' He looked entirely peaceful. Not knowing why, she suddenly became furious. Anger covered her mind as she replied.

'I can't offer you anything! I haven't got love for you!' She sprang to her feet and paced across the clearing, back and forth between Eragon and the opposite tree. 'I can't give you anything!' She was the most surprised when the first tear ran down her cheek. _I can't give him love… I can't love… I don't know love…_She caught and quickly wiped it away, but it was too late, the man saw it. He stood up with sadness on his face and took a step closer. Arya turned away. _What's happening to me? What's this? _She could feel the warmness of his shy hand on her shoulder. He waited, but when she didn't draw away, he stepped yet closer with his body in front of her and took his arm around her back.

Suddenly all her inhibitions were gone and she hung on to Eragon's shoulders, burying her face into his chest. Her tears flew unstoppable, her whole body was shaking of her crying. Eragon took her in his arms and hugged her tight to himself. Arya felt him gently cradle her, not asking anything, not saying anything. He just let her cry and comforted her with his presence. His scent was the same she remembered, the same she liked. His muscular chest was the most perfect place she could hide in. She hung to him tightly and she could feel that unknown emotion again. The comfortable emotion she was safe, she was trusted, she was loved.

She let her tears fall and lighten her. She spent many days in her bed agonizing and just waiting for death to come for her. She spent almost a week surrounded by people she could not trust in, in whose presence she had to behave, which thought of her as their own princess, their own possession in a way, whose requirements she had to meet. She spent almost a whole week, being faint and ill, wanting just peace and having to be the leader, the strong one saying the others what to do at the same time. She spent almost seven days in that bed having all the responsibility on her shoulders. Her shoulders which had been wavering between death and life. She had had to be always the strongest, she had not been able to speak about her fears or worries, to calm down and accept what fate did with her.

The time she spent in his arms with crying, freed her from all his secret fears, her nervousness, her worries: every hidden feeling now disappeared with her tears. His hand caressed her hair. She felt he leaned down and gently propped his head on hers. She felt so safe in the warmth of his surrounding body as she didn't for years. Her eyes were closed, and her tears stopped.

'I'm sorry.' He whispered into her ears. 'I shouldn't have made your mother and all the elves so furious. I was stupid and just caused you another problems.' He cradled her with gentle movements, whispering into her raven hair. 'I'm so sorry.'

'It's not your fault.' She whispered back into his chest in a husky voice. 'I'm just tired of not being able to trust anybody and be careful with my words every single time I open my mouth.' She sensed him disagree. 'Last time I was not careful I caused you pain. Much pain.'

'Then let me suffer, Arya. Cause me pain if this makes you less sad. I can't bear your unhappiness and sadness.' She felt his warm breathe on her neck as he spoke. She sighed: she knew she should move out of his tight hug, but it was so comforting, she couldn't make herself do. It was Eragon that pulled away first, and she sensed his unwillingness. She suddenly felt awkward despite the comfortable emotions filling her. She wanted to say something, but she didn't know what, so she just stood there silently.

When she glanced the coming man, it was too late. Grûlthar stepped onto the clearing.

**To be continued...**

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**Note: **Well, I have a good and a bad news. The good news is that I was free today of school and had time to write some. The bad news is that I will truly need this extra time cause next weekend I won't be in the near of computers (not in the way I would need to write at least), and the week after the next might be less update. (Recently I write in the weekends and on weekdays only edit them ). I will try my best though.

**Edit**** 09/26/09:** To answer Aussie surfer: well I write the updates with double speed right now, but you can choose so. (It's only question of dates, I update 4 times in the next two weeks either way.)

What would you prefer **when** should I update?

**a.)** If I update the story on Sunday (tomorrow), and twice next week, but after the ominous weekend only once in that week, or

**b.)** If I don't update this Sunday, but twice next week and twice the week after that ominous weekend?

This Sunday / Next week / "After week"

a.) ..........1..................2....................1

b.) ..........0..................2....................2

Amiréa

**PS: **Huuge thanks for everybody who reviewed, and mainly for my pervers little :P beta.

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	11. Chapter 10 Vow and wisdom

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, the names, the characters, the style (etc.) of it or any relating rights, Christopher Paolini does. I own only the general idea of _this_ story and _some_ of the characters. The following story is my (first) fanfiction based on Christopher Paolini's books and is only for the entertainment of both me and my occasional readers. Do not copy without my permission (if you should want to - lol).

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**Chapter 10 – Vow and wisdom**

Amiréa was lying on the floor crying. She circled up hugging her left leg. Her tears flew quickly, running down her exquisite face. Her deep blue eyes were full of despair and pain.

Eragon gently took her in his arms and eased her back onto her bed. The young girl didn't flinch or react any ways. She just hugged her knees, not gazing at Eragon. It was a heart-breaking sight. He promised himself that he would do everything not to see this expression again on her face. This sight, this went to the heart hurting him more than a wound in battle. He felt a desperate urge to comfort her, but he couldn't do more at the moment.

She finally lifted her gaze and looked deep into his eyes. He could see the question in them as clearly as the first time she opened them at him. The girls eyes asked for the truth and he couldn't do better - or worse - than telling it to her.

'We have one of the best elven healers here. We used magic to fix your leg and other injuries, and I gave you energy every time so that your body was able to get through the worst parts.' His voice was gentle and kind. He didn't know how, but this little girl who had traveled across the land holding the most valuable treasure of Alagaësia surviving many dangers, made him act very gently, with such kindness he thought the war had killed out of him long ago. Amiréa had power over him. 'But your ankle was... too seriously hurt and let without medical help for too long. If we had been there, we might have been able to heal it, but it was too late then.'

Amiréa's eyes were pleading. She was visibly not able to say anything.

'It is more than likely that you will never be able to use your leg and... and walk.' His voice broke. What fate would sentence such an adorable young girl to not be able to go and walk if she wants to? What fate would decide so cruelly?

Amiréa took a deep breathe and faintly flushed, looking apologizingly at Eragon.

'Thank you. I … just got frightened. I'm sorry.' She tried an uncertain smile. 'It hurt much more when I was riding the horse, I can barely feel it now.' _She_ was trying to comfort _him_.

'I think you lost me somewhere. I don't... don't understand you.' Why was the girl smiling and apologizing? She should have been crying for cry out loud! Then he remembered her words and took his hand upon her ankle. He murmured a quiet spell he learnt in Ellesméra months ago. He could say of her deep blue eyes that the pain lessened.

'What about some tea? I cooked you broth too, if you feel well enough to eat now.'

'You... you cooked?'

'Yes, but it's eatable. At least I hope so.' At that moment an earthquake shook the ground, making her forget how to breathe. Then the window shut open and two large blue pole appeared in it.

_Saphira. You weren't able to come quieter, right?_

The dragon chuckled making the window tremble. _As I've said, I'm not a little mouse. _Eragon shook his head.

'Well, let me introduce Saphira.'

_Nice to meet you little Amiréa. _Amiréa just stared, her mouth falling open. She stuttered something as an answer, then helplessly glanced at Eragon. He smiled at her, caressing her dark hair.

_Arya would like to see you after the mourning of the people from Carvahall. Privately in the forest you met last time when she… laughed at you. _She said him privately. _What about drinking the tea in the garden? It's warm here considering that it's middle of autumn._

_I think it's a good idea. _Eragon said looking at her face. 'What you think?'

'Er... Right. Of course.' Eragon smiled and lifted her in his arms. He cautiously took her out to the garden and sat her into the chair standing at the table under the branches of an old oak. Feinster had oak forests around it and everywhere stood large old green trees, silently turning to yellow, orange and red as autumn was coming.

This chair was old and not as comfortable as the one Oromis had in front of his house, but it remembered him the old Rider, and helped him clear his thoughts. In the past days he often sat here just wondering the pass of the time and praying for Arya to recover.

Amiréa watched him as he brought half the kitchen out, including two mugs, the tea pot and a plate of the broth so. For himself he brought a basket of fruits. Saphira lay down in the grass, her head close to the table. Eragon sat on her neck with a light movement, having a red apple in his hand. Amiréa seemed embarrassed and drank awkwardly of her tea. He didn't know what her true problem was, but he had a fair guess that it was Saphira herself. The dragon was offended at the very thought and decided to ask it straight.

_Are you afraid of me?_

'I...'

_Just think it. It's easier to talk in mind if you don't mind. _

_You shouldn't be though. I don't harm the family of Eragon, and I'm also very grateful for you saved the egg of Galbatorix._

_Would you mind telling us how you succeeded? _Eragon asked. 'The way it's more comfortable for you.' _But only after you ate something. _Amiréa numbly ate a spoonful of the soup, then started her story with deep sadness in her mental voice. She was visibly not used to this sort of conversation, but the images in her head soon were ordered. He could see the pictures and strong emotions flashing through her head when she started her story.

_I had been the servant of Galbatorix since my birth. My grandfather was Morzan but my grandmother was only a simply attendant and so was my mother. My father can be anybody. I knew I had to commit something very bad to be executed. I stole a pass that night to get to Murtagh and ask him about the gossips. The gossips if he really killed an old Dragon Rider. _She glanced at Eragon unsurely. He held his face smooth.

_I grew up in the palace and knew several corridors not leading anywhere. One of them had a guard at the end of it. It led deep under the ground of the palace and it was spoken that the king used the chamber they guarded for some secret magic. The soldiers saw my pass and let me get into the chamber. _

_There… were voices speaking in my head and all around me. They said they want me to do something for them. They said they wanted me to don't die and to free them of Galbatorix. I told them I was not able to, but they didn't listen to me. They just said to find the Rock of Kuthian and wake him up... They said this several times. Their voices was whirling around me and I couldn't listen to all of them, they were all speaking at the same time. They said I was the best chance..._

_The best chance? _Eragon asked silently, trying not to disturb her much. _The best chance for what?_

_The best chance and the best choice__... The best chance to get them out... They wanted me to do things I didn't understand, all wanted another thing and much of them spoke a strange language. It was much like the ancient language, but it is only used for magic, so I don't know..._ She glanced up.

Eragon nodded her to continue.

_Every one wanted something else and I didn't know what to do... Then they said they wouldn't have a better choice as Galbatorix didn't say anything about young girls who are not elves and cannot use magic... And said me to free the egg and find the Rider and come back to free them as well... _

_And my head was spinning and I couldn't think straight when I stole my mare and didn't steal trousers too and when I wanted to get on its back I fell… and my ankle broke and I couldn't do anything with it, I just rode further and further to reach you and then Murtagh found me and my ankle broke one more time in the river I think and..._

Her tears appeared again. Saphira leaned close to her face and touched her forehead with her nose.

_You were very brave, young Amiréa. I and my species has to be very grateful to you._

_Thank... thank you. _She whispered.

They remained in silence for some moments. Eragon felt embarrassed, but knew he had to do it.

'You helped us much and we are very grateful. But there's a rule I cannot break.' He sighed. 'You have to let me observe your mind and afterwards you have to take a vow. I know it's not pleasant, but until you do this you can't be let alone, and mainly not in _my_ house. I'm sorry for it.'

'Aye.' She said quietly. 'I think it must be necessary in a camp like this.'

'I'm sorry.' Eragon whispered. He stepped close to her and gently cupped her cheeks. He hated himself to do that, but entered her mind to look it over. Oromis taught him how to do it, but he never imagined there will be time when he has to do it personally. In Surda they couldn't check every mind, but the ones close to the leaders had to be supervised. He knew he wouldn't torture her so much the Twins did it with him in Farthen dûr, but this wasn't comfortable no matter who did it. However, if not him, then a member of the Du Vrangr Gata would have to do it and he couldn't take the chance driving her crazy with some too intense pushing.

Her mind was disoriented, but the voice of it was clear and soft like Amiréa herself. He felt again the feeling he had had the time he dreamt with her, the strange remembering of Arya. The elf's mind was sharper, not so soft and childishly gentle, but there were those hints of wisdom and intelligence that characterized Arya so much. She was sweet and not disappointed in people like his love, but her mind seemed him like he was listening to a very young Arya, to a happier one.

It was very familiar for him, he knew how not cause her pain with the checking. He cautiously looked every memory from the time she spent at the castle and found nothing but the truth she had said him. When Eragon pulled back after some hard minutes he knew he had chosen well. Amiréa was honest, young and lovely. Her emotions towards him were disorienting: she considered him almost as a god. He was her hero and he felt happy and disturbed of it at the same time.

'And a vow... you said, right?'

'Aye. You know the ancient language some, don't you?'

'Yes, I do. Do I have to say it in it?'

'Yes, would you mind it?'

'No.' She sighed. Eragon was thinking some time. He knew everything about how much vows can turn to curse after some time. When he thought he had the best solution he could find out, he consulted Saphira and when they were both satisfied with it, he asked her to repeat it after him.

'I mean no harm for the Varden. I don't do anything to hinder them in completing their task by want. I don't help people hindering them in completing their task either. I don't do anything which can be bad for the society neither which can help Galbatorix. I don't help Murtagh or Thorn by want. I don't attack or kill neither with magic nor physically elves, dwarfs, humans or urgals if they help the Varden. I don't tell information about the Varden to their enemies.'

The vow didn't await her to be part of the Varden just made sure she won't cause them problems or have a bad will.

Eragon watched the reddish sun hide behind the horizon and suddenly felt very tired. He had hard weights on his soul and heart. He was only seventeen and his shoulders had to wear the responsibility not every men could bear – at any age. He felt very old, older than the most people around him. He knew more about the world, knew more about the past and also the future than they did.

He was immortal and had to see this world not only in the next decade but in the next thousand years. Humans in the camp had only one task: killing Galbatorix and destroying his reign and Empire. But who will be the next king? Whose will be the next reign, the next Empire? Where was the guaratee that there won't be another dark king? Where was the guarantee he would not become such a dark king himself if he is asked to be the next king?

_In your heart, little one. You wouldn't hurt anybody by want, and if you do, when you fight and kill, you can feel the weight on your soul every time. You wasn't born to be a warrior._

_Then what was I born to? What should I be and who? This war ends any ways, my self will lost something and I can only guess what this something might be. It will be a very valuable thing though and a great lost._

Saphira poked him gently. _You have been thinking a lot recently, haven't you?_

_I have been sitting here for almost a week now. I was thinking almost a week long about me and Arya, Arya and me, Galbatorix and Murtagh, Murtagh and me, this girl and Murtagh, me and this girl and you and me._

_And what have you found out?_

_I don't know exactly. I don't know the future and don't know what I will do, but... I see the world otherwise now. _He glanced at his new niece and brought the sleeping girl back into her room. _I can feel the weight of many years on my shoulders now. And it will be only worse by the pass of the time._

_You're wiser. _She said proudly and a bit sadly sensing the direction his thoughts went.

_Yes, I am. But what is the price I will pay for it? What is the price I have to pay for becoming more experienced, wiser? Now it was the price of the weight lying on my heart, the worry Arya won't live tomorrow, the worry in a moment there will be a messenger in front of me saying my love is dead. _

_Now this weight, this worry was the price. But what will it be next time?_

**To be continued…

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**

**Note:** Well, there hadn't be anybodysaying me anything about the update-time, so here you are. :S And I1ll be sooo offended I don't update whole next week. Yes, I have written (how much? 10th, 11th, 12th and half 13th chapter) a lot of chapters to egualize the bad influence the next weekend will have and soo: nobody pleading, nobody writing (remember the shirts one more time: Those who don't have it...).

I'm marking my letters as unread, but I guess this cannot work for too much time...

I'm offended.

Very much.

Seriously.

I'm not kidding.

Really.

Anyway, the updates seem to be... with less action and shorter than other times (because of the cut - it was necessary), so maybe there won't be so much less chapter than you long for (?).

I was watching the movie for almost an hour (the parts I'm able to see without crying at least), the opening... I cannot count how many times. *cough* , but it gave me some ideas where to lead the story (as far as it let me lead it), and yes, I got some ideas from Elvendiath too (remember - I'm working on the you-know-which part) and so I have been sitting here and writing... for very much time.

So I highly recommend you to enjoy & review. *sharping her sword*

The offended (seriously!) little

Amiréa


	12. Chapter 11 Hidden under a palace

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, the names, the characters, the style (etc.) of it or any relating rights, Christopher Paolini does. I own only the general idea of _this_ story and _some_ of the characters. The following story is my (first) fanfiction based on Christopher Paolini's books and is only for the entertainment of both me and my occasional readers. Do not copy without my permission (if you should want to - lol).

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**Chapter 11 – Hidden under a palace**

Roran looked around nervously. _You cannot die here, think about what would happen then with Katrina and your child. _ He repeated this several times as he had done in every dangerous situation since he left Carvahall. _ What would happen to Katrina… _He clutched his sword with one hand, being ready to attack and kill for the first suspicious movement. The light of the lamps trembled painting shadows everywhere – so his nerves were not in the best condition.

The yellowish light of their lamps cleared only some feet in front of them from the dark stone of the old corridor. Roran quietly moaned when his gaze met the sight of a staircase. _Another_ staircase. He couldn't say how many this was - he stopped counting it long ago - but one more than it would have been bearable. On the surface, there was broad sunlight. And yet here were they, walking awkwardly into the depth, darkness. He would have been much calmer if it had been Eragon accompanying them as he did in Helgrind. But he was far away on a mission somewhere in the distance and he had to be pleased with whatever he had.

This whatever was the main magician of Nasuada right now, Trianna. And this meant they were supposed to find something close to magic - and this made Roran feel uncomfortable. The soldiers were only decorating. He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, but she seemed completely calm and composed. He cursed that boy one more time and took the first step into the depth.

Only some day ago, a young boy at the age of fourteen thought to be tough if he went down into a part of the palace nobody used, nobody gave a thought to. There weren't much knowing about it and the ones who did, experienced it the way the boy planned. He went down and up stairs, walked through corridors to see if he can find something to kill the dark leader of the Varden with or some corridor leading into her private quarters. He didn't, but at one place, the floor broke from his weight and there appeared a whole new system of corridors, staircases and unknown rooms and chambers. The heritage of the elves living here thousand years ago.

_Eragon must know something about the elves who built it, but for me it's only a labyrinth without any wonderful building-style or meaning. Observe it those who are interested in them, _he thought, but the various patterns made by some ancient elven hand caught his eyes too. The underground palace was visibly different than the one on the surface. This under one was so… other. Its power and strangeness made him shiver. This was something other than he was used to, something above the humans.

Even only the walls and the floor. He could see it was not made by human although was neither an architect nor knew the work of the elves. He could feel it from the way the corridors _looked_. He watched some carving on the upper part of the wall. It was carved from the stone long ago but yet it seemed it was made only yesterday. He was not able to make out every detail it was so difficultly elaborated. It would take lifetimes to do such work even for an elf – a human would never be able to do such fine work. _They had magic though, _he thought sourly, glancing at Trianna on his side. _If I asked Eragon, he could surely do such work for me in a moment. I bet they just thought some moments about the patterns then carved it here in no time._

The lamps, they all held, were made by magic. They had yellowish light like some torch, but they burnt for several times as long. He knew Eragon could do him such light too and was thinking about the usefulness of a Rider brother for a moment. Katrina deserved everything and yet more than an average woman. He imagined some carvings of this sort on their house. Yes, he would definitely ask Eragon to do some. And this wouldn't be so far away. They just made a little break in Feinster, then go against Uru'baen. He knew more about the war and the strategies they followed than any other 'soldier', and knew some of the difficulty Eragon and the others had against Galbatorix.

But he always believed in his cousin and believed there were no unsolvable problems. Eragon was going to find out something – and afterwards he was going to be able to live with Katrina in their house with their baby. He did everything to end this war before the time of the childbirth and so far everything was fine. The Varden would attack in some weeks and win in some months at the latest. He would have much time to get his family in safe.

He knew Eragon had not such luck. _Poor boy, he seemed so… old. _He recalled the time they had chatted some after the mourning. His face had been pale as snow, as there hadn't been enough blood in his veins and wrinkles had creased his forehead. _ He has many problems though. _He couldn't imagine how he would have feel if he knew Katrina was lying somewhere, dying while he was at the same camp, in the same town and still wasn't let to sit at her bed. Not let to see her if she was alive or already dead. Not let to see the face of his love.

He didn't know exactly why Eragon hadn't fought harder to see her. But he had a fair guess he felt himself be guilty of her almost-death. He loved her desperately and he still hadn't done anything. He felt the elf should have been less… less cruel. He could see deep in his eyes, deep below the calm, smooth surface. He suffered very much. Katrina said him not to get involved, but he wanted to do something. Something he was not able to. Arya was so much other than the women he knew, he didn't know how to… handle her.

She and Eragon had a good and somehow mysterious relationship and he felt she understood him better than he was going to in the remaining amount of time he would live. He was not immortal, not like Eragon. Eragon had forever, _lived _forever. He couldn't imagine, couldn't understand what this meant, how this made him feel. And so, his choice was the best he could do: not only another immortal, but a woman who wore men-clothes and acted like men, fought like men, used magic, communicated with her mind and was wonderful. He had seen her at the mourning – it was not too hard find her as he just had to look in the direction half the crowd did.

Her face was calm and composed not betraying any emotion. Just like Eragon's. He wondered how she could be here only six days after she was nearly killed. When he asked Eragon, his answer made him gasp although he should have counted something like that in the case of an elf.

_'Arya heals fast. These six days shows the opposite you think of her.' Roran furrowed. Eragon stared somewhere far away into the distance. 'When I was at Farthen dûr, she almost died of the poison she had been given, she had only half a day left… Four days after that I was sparring her as an exam.'_

_'Exam? Fighting a woman who has just healed? I hope you managed to win over her?' Roran almost laughed._

_'A woman who was strong enough to be the elves' ambassador for seventy years, holding the Varden's most valuable treasure through Alagaësia with two other elves. A woman who is an elf and three times stronger than the strongest human. It was definitely the easiest match I sparred.' He looked at Roran's face. 'Count that I was only a human those times. And, yes. I was not a rival for her, but she let me…' He shook his head seeing his brother's expression. 'Not win but lose without shame.'_

_'So six days…'_

_'It's much more the way you have to count it and you can still see she's fighting her pain right now.'_

Roran hadn't seen but had a guess they knew each other more and better than he said or he himself knew. He nodded to himself: he would definitely not want her wife to be a warrior herself.

They walked slowly deeper into the darkness. Roran couldn't say how deep they were since they got up and down many stairs but he felt the weight above them. He hurried to think something other than the great palace and towers and chambers and people above them. He soundlessly cursed when he got down of the stair and stood at the beginning of another corridor. The end of it was not visible, but he saw it was curving somewhere in the right.

He sighed angrily. There were some parts of the old palace they could turn elsewhere but the last part of their journey was straight, without any chance to go right or left: they had to go straight after Trianna chose this corridor for its well-patterned walls. As far as Roran could say, the pattern was too high and here was too deep to be enjoyable but what did he know about elves? If they want to use time and strength to decorate the walls of a corridor not leading anywhere, with patterns not visible for anybody, too long way from the entrace for be usable regularly by anybody, not letting any light in - so not letting see it for anybody – then it's up to them to do. But he had no intentions to go further and further into the ground while he would have been able to be up in the sunlight.

He looked at Trianna, but when he saw her face, he didn't say a word. The magician wanted to go further – so they was going to go further. He slowly walked in the curving not wanting to walk through some trap and die only because of the whim of a crazy woman. He had the sense they were walking in a circle round and round. Nothing was more desirable than turning around with this corridor and found out at the end of it that they didn't go anywhere just some steps from the place they turned to the patterned corridor.

They _did_ turn backwards. _It seems all the work of a whole morning is lost._ Roran thought when he saw the staircase oriented back to the middle of the palace and up – equalizing the whole way they did at the beginning of the curving corridor.

He took the first step up and started to climb back towards the surface. _If there were an elf here at least. He could say much more useful instructions than _she_ does. _ But he knew the exact reason why Nasuada didn't ask somebody of Blödhgarm's team to accompany him. Eragon had not the best relationship with the elves these times. Even after she had apologized along with the other leaders for the little shouting scene and asked him to fight on their side again, Eragon didn't forgive them entirely. He accepted to do some scouting, but there were some political issues they were not at the same opinion with his liege-lady. Roran guessed he was forced to do it (physically, magically or emotionally - he wasn't sure).

He knew however that Nasuada had to remind him of his vow and did also that this was going to make Eragon only yet angrier. He got up to the end of the flight of stairs and stopped abruptly. From what they had experienced so far, there should have been another corridor. But at the end of the stairs, there was a large hall.

After a moment of looking over the new situation he took a step hearing the soldiers getting anxious behind his back yet on the stairs.

The hall was circle-shaped and richly decorated. He lifted his lamp higher. The middle of the circle had some strange vivid-coloured patterns. All around there were carvings – on the walls, on the floor, and on the large door in front of him. He looked it with more attention and it turned out to be decorated with billions of tiny gems. His mouth fell open as he watched the detailed work whirling around everywhere.

Trianna murmured something. Her face was excited and pleased. Roran had to admit, the magician led them to the… to what exactly? It seemed to be a chamber or some room behind the large door – and it must have been hiding something valuable. The spellcaster went closer to the door and touched it with cautious hands. She chanted something quietly – and nothing happened. Roran watched her doing this over and over for some time, but she didn't succeed.

Then he turned his attention towards the soldiers. The soldiers which were trying to get out some little diamonds of the wall. Some were on their knees and tried the floor too. He could understand them: only some of these and the life of their family was secured for a long time. But he was here not for his own sake, but for Nasuada's, so he had to interrupt them. He clutched his sword stronger and muttered a short pray.

He glanced one more time at Trianna, but she didn't seem to notice the danger. If it had got to fight, he would have been on his own. He knew well that the soldiers would try to kill them after they freed some gems, hoping they could escape Feinster before somebody would search after the little detachment. He lifted his unsheathed sword and went to the first diamond-miner with his heart heavy.

Suddenly there was a loud gasp of one of the kneeling figures. They all stared at him to see if he managed to free his diamond – but he lay on his back, being shaken by some invisible power. Roran was the first to understand. The elves didn't leave their treasure unguarded here – there must have been some dark magic killing the one who tried to steal them.

Trianna was still trying to get into the chamber, she didn't notice the soldier or anything on the world besides the door. Her face was more and more angry. This was the first time Roran saw any emotion on her face.

She was the one who offered to accompany him on his mission and Roran wondered all the time why she did it. But now he thought he got the answer: the witch wanted something from the chamber behind the door. She wanted some dark treasure of the depth and if she had decided to kill them because of their presence and knowledge, she could have done it. They were tough warriors but against magic, they had no chances.

_You are imagining too much into the situation,_ Roran warned himself. But he had a strong feeling that Trianna was not accompanying them only because of some incomprehensible whim of hers.

He waited and waited, but the witch kept trying. He sat down onto the ground.

Finally Trianna admitted her defeat. She said she would call some elf to help and they remain here for the time he arrives, before Roran could hope in going back home. He wanted to say her he was not going to stand here for the time the witch goes back to the surface then comes back with an elf, but his soldiers started to complain sooner than he could.

Trianna smiled and arrogantly informed them that she didn't have to go back. She closed her eyes and theatrically lifted her hands into the air as if she wanted to catch something visible only for her. After some moment opened them again. The soldiers watched her show with admiring and secretly slightly frightened gazes. Roran knew she talked to somebody through their minds, he had already experienced such conversation with Eragon. The only difference was the artlessness he did it with, without any betraying move or inattention. He didn't like the light in Trianna's eyes though.

There was some dark intention in them for the first time they met.

**To be continued...

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**

**Note:** I always forget what I wanted to say... Well, I have written the plot, and actually I'm thinking about finishing this soon. When I started this, I thought I would write something... well, not short, cause I cannot write anything _shortly_, but also not planned to write twenty chapters, it's far too much for a "simple love story". It's turned to general, and I have some ideas to write other stories. Yet I don't want to cut it off short (which I could do now in... OK 4 chaps), but...

I'm a bit lazy actually and would have many things to do in my 'real life' too... So I will decide it soon whether I finish or write further with my former ideas and work on to tie up a few loose ends and start another ones. I'd be curious and gladly know your points. Which would you prefer so? To know the end of the story and read other stories (short stories - I keep trying), or would see where this one goes risking that it would turn to a soap opera (I mean it's the thousandth chap and still full of problems and action and emotions and everything and still isn't a happily ever after).

Amiréa

**PS **Those who tried it, can say I didn't kill anybody for his (mainly her) opinion and I **love **evrey reviewing person. The negatives and uncomprehending ones the most - so I can see where to go how to write to be more enjoyable.

**BTW I still cannot see why everybody seem to want me to update soon and write WHOLE CHAPTERS in no time while they cannot even write a few words for me.** If I may say, it's not you that have to write (and write) 2,000-3,000 words every three day, but if you would try you could see it's not so easy.

**I don't want to say with this not to ask for a quicker update, cause I'm a reader too and know the feeling - but could you please, PLEASE write me a few words in return?**


	13. Chapter 12 Holes

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, the names, the characters, the style (etc.) of it or any relating rights, Christopher Paolini does. I own only the general idea of _this_ story and _some_ of the characters. The following story is my (first) fanfiction based on Christopher Paolini's books and is only for the entertainment of both me and my occasional readers. Do not copy without my permission (if you should want to - lol).

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**Chapter 12 – Holes**

Arya stood in the sunlight, one of her legs around her neck, the other staying at the surface of a trunk with bended knee. She held her sword in one hand in parallel to her spine down – the other was between this hand and her leg around her neck, only making little circles in the air.

She had been doing this for sunrise. As always, she wanted to do her Rimgar exercises in the morning. She just wanted to find her life again. To follow her daily routine and not think more about death. But when she began to move her body through many exercises she had done every single day – her body disobeyed her. Her body simply betrayed her.

So she spent the whole morning and part of afternoon with strechting her muscles until her every piece was at its right place in the best condition. Now she stretched one of the lasts: a tricky little muscle in her shoulder. She knew she was childish doing the exercises again and again, but she wanted to forget. She wanted to forget everything. And the first step was forgetting the physical side of it.

She had already experienced this – after the time she spent as Durza's hostage. She tried to get back to her former life but she knew she couldn't. And this made her angry, made her do ridiculous things like this one with her sword and Rimgar exercises. She tried to cling to every little detail of her former life although she knew the whole would slip of her fingers.

She stopped for a moment. She didn't understand herself. She had been near to death several times and hadn't made her so… desperate. What was the difference now? She could have answered, but she didn't. She didn't like the thought and the know she handled Eragon as a child or better say somebody who was chosen by fate, by blind luck. She had believed, truly had believed, the things he had done could have been done by anybody - or even more could have been done. She had thought Eragon to be weaker than an elf would have been in his place.

She recalled the times when Vanir had spoken her about his sparring skills. She had known he hadn't been well. She had known he had been seriously injured and though, she had thought somebody, somebody else, would have done, could have done it better. From the ground, the fight of the dragons seemed to be just some easy game. She hadn't realize, hadn't thought how serious and how difficult it was both for the dragon and Eragon. And now, she could see she hadn't been right. Nobody had been right about them.

She shouldn't have blamed Eragon for anything. Not today, not yesterday. Never.

She sighed as she felt that ominous muscle free from stiffness and move the way it should. What did Eragon feel when he couldn't even _move_ straight? When he was not able to spar, to walk, to do Rimgar? And why just Eragon? Why was him the only one to suffer? Why did fate choose him for all its suffering? Why he, why not her?

She could be lying in bed with some enduring injury. Something incurable. Something making her useless and weak. Something torturing her every time - like Oromis had. Like Eragon had. Why didn't she have this something? She thought of the answer and tasted ash. Only because of Eragon. Only because Eragon saved her. Not like she had "done"it at Farthen dûr. Was it so long ago when she thought they were even? They never would. Never could.

She remembered the time she hoped to be the Dragon Rider herself to save her people and Alagaësia from the dark king. To be the one gaining Islanzadí's attention, everybody's attention and their spur. She was desperate and wanted it so badly - a true mate, a huge majestic dragon. She trained and did everything to be the chosen one. But Saphira chose a simple farm boy. A farm boy who did most things better than anybody else could.

She eased out from her position and stared into the eyes of her constant follower. From the time he saw them in a strange – well, really strange – position with Eragon, Grûlthar followed her everywhere. His presence was more and more annoying but Arya took her promise and didn't say a hard word to him. Not that she said so much things to him. Arya repeated the exercise for her other side too.

She glanced at the bag lying on the ground only some feet away of her. It was unvisibly round for most people – most people but the elves. The third dragon egg – for Eragon's sake – was given to Arya as Nasuada knew she was the only one trusted enough by him not to get annoyed him yet more than he was anyways. She said she felt well enough to take the mission but she knew everybody thought the _elves_ and mainly Blödhgarm would make sure it would be in safe. Arya thought otherwise and considered the egg as _her own_ mission. So the egg was outside when she did her exercises.

Her mind was opened to feel any other mind or bad will near the egg and near the tents of theirs. So she sensed the human coming through the plain towards their tents immediately. Her mind wasn't guarded. Katrina.

She wondered what she may have been doing here. She soon got the answer: her. She wanted to speak about her and Eragon. Fine.

Arya shivered. What more could she say about him? She sighed and eased out of the posture to stand to her feet. She took some deep breathes. It was harder than she thought – but she won over her traitor body at last.

Katrina was shy but decided. Arya took the flat bag on her shoulder with a light movement and waved her to come to her tent. The woman was surprised for a moment, but followed her without hesitation. Arya stepped into her tent and placed the bag onto her bed. She knew it was going to be a long talk. She decided. She took two mugs and boiled the water prepared in her tea-kettle. _Soma herba-tea wouldn't make any harm. _

Katrina stepped into the tent after her. She looked around then sat down nervously as Arya silently waved her to take seat on the narrow bed. She stared at her hands. They didn't speak a word yet.

"Katrina." She nodded her as she finished the tea.

"Shadeslayer…"

"Just Arya, please." She handed her the mug.

"Arya." She sipped of her tea. "I… Roran wanted to talk to you. To be involved in the… relationship between Eragon and you." She waited, looking Arya's expression. The elf kept her face smooth and motionless. _Ahh. So such a reason, _she thought. "I thought you may not have appreciated such an involvement."

"You were right." Arya observed her for a moment. Her torso was changed by her pregnancy, and Arya could hear the presence of the child in her belly. Before that she never listened to pregnant mothers – in Ellesméra there were no ones, at the Varden she didn't usually listen to the surrounding humans' thoughts. But now she heard the trust and love between her and the baby and felt some ancient sadness. She couldn't think about it further as Katrina began to speak.

"Roran wants to… save him. He is happy and thinks everybody should be happy around him. But Eragon isn't even close to happiness. It's not your… not _only_ your fault. He has had a tough time recently."

"And my death didn't help much." Arya said despite her promise not to say a word so that she would go back to the town.

"He loves you very much, from the heart. You must know this."

"It would be hard not to know as he declared his love in front of everybody in a language nobody can lie." She said furrowing. Katrina gasped.

"So this was what he said?" She whispered. She nodded herself deep in thought then looked back at her. "He declared his love to your _queen_?" Now she was furrowing.

"Islanzadí is my mother."

Katrina sprang up at the very moment. "A queen? But then you… you are a princess!" She almost shouted.

"Yes, I am. And I would appreciate if you sat down." She obeyed after a moment and Arya continued. "He had declared his love firstly to me… But I could not accept it. His attention must have been focused on _studying_, not on _loving somebody._"

"But why had he… Your mother said him he had killed you… by want, didn't she?"

"Something along these lines." She sighed silently. "Poor Eragon. He had better love somebody else."

"They talked about this with Roran one time." She smiled seeing Arya's astonishment. "They grew up as brothers and they still share their problems. At least their "woman-problems". And Roran shares his disturbing thoughts with _me._ So I know Roran said him exactly that, but Eragon didn't agree. He told him he was immortal." She glanced uncertainly at Arya. "And he had better love somebody without return than love somebody who would die and age with time, not like him." She hesitated a moment. "Are you immortal too? I think I know you are, but… how this affects you? How can you live while others you loved die and died? How can you make friendships knowing they would die and you wouldn't?"

"It's uncomprehensive, isn't it?" Her voice turned husky so she sipped some tea before continuing. The woman found one of her most sensitive points at first touch and she didn't know if she should speak about it. She weighed her options and decided. "The elves count time otherwise and behave otherwise than human do, exactly because of immortality. They… isn't so communicative and trusting as humans and they can wait hundreds of years for a revenge."

"They? You don't count yourself an elf?"

"I… lived much amongst humans and think and behave like humans more than any of my species. But when I get back to my forests, everything changes back as if I had never left it. I feel myself just a young girl without the experience I have. I find happiness and calmness – but just for a little time." She didn't notice she was talking about her deepest emotions, her deep buried fears, worries she didn't even realize until the time she said out aloud.

"I laugh and enjoy the world like that time I was only a girl, but… after some weeks I begin to feel cheated. And I begin to long for my former life again. I should be happy in Ellesméra but I'm simply not able to. And the time I spend with the Varden I always need some time to calm down to be myself since I feel as if I was acting as if it was not me."

"You cannot bury either side of yours. Why don't you try to accept both and unite them? I can understand what you feel though." Arya furrowed. She cannot imagine a woman of a far little village could feel the same as she did as an ambassador of the elves, the egg-carrier. Not because she considered lower than herself but because they were so far and as were their destinies.

"When I learnt I was in love with Roran… I knew my father wouldn't let him marry me as he had no money, no house, nothing just his own strength. I knew he was the man I wanted, but… I was uncertain. Should I marry someone barely able to support me? When I was with Roran I felt definitely yes and when I was with my father I felt definitely no. And both times when I spent some time with either of them I felt… a hole.

Like you. I felt I should go back to the other but I knew I wouldn't be the whole with that man either…" She stopped for a moment hesitating. "I think… If you let me say, princess… I think you should find your true home, the place you feel yourself right, no matter how much time pass. If you can find such place you will find your home. And well… I think you will be able to find out your emotions towards Eragon then too. So confused you are right now you cannot decide or feel it. I think…" She got shy as she thought through what she said the princess and blushed. She hoped she didn't go too far.

Arya felt as somebody would have brought a lamp into her mind and lighted all the things she held in darkness so far. During the years she spent at the Varden camp in Farthen dûr, she had learnt many things about herself: she needed friendship and trust and to be able to share her very thoughts with somebody – how much she forgot! After Fäolin's death, she didn't want anybody to share her life with, to trust in and gain trust in return. This somebody, this friend was now Eragon… and not only Eragon, but Saphira, Orik and from today Katrina too. But the fact Eragon was in love with her made her forget the friendship she felt towards him. She needed Eragon – not as a lover, but as a friend.

She nodded to the silently waiting Katrina. "Thank you. You have helped me much."

"Not at all." After this they talked about things the men could not understand and they couldn't share with anybody. Woman issues - washing their clothes, the disadvantages of the heavy skirts, combing their hair to various forms and styles for the celebrations. Arya didn't feel so normal for much time. These were not serious or life-saving ones but comfortable and natural. It comforted her - feeling normal again. This conversation helped her more than the morning Rimgar exercises.

After almost an hour they talked the funny little things they observed at Eragon, Roran and other men. Those little awkward moments and habits only a woman could notice. They laughed on some youth foolishness of the brothers when an elf entered the tent to see after Arya. Katrina gave the princess the empty mug with a knowing smile. "It's time for me to go." Arya smiled back the pair of it and accompanied her to the border of their little tent-camp. They parted as friends.

Arya was watching her go through the plains as she felt as a new mind was searching for theirs.

She waited and Trianna contacted Blödhgarm. The magician wanted somebody to go down under the palace because they found something that may be important. Her mental voice was affected but become abruptly over-polite when Arya joined the conversation.

**To be continued...

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**Note:** Enjoy.

And thanks Solangedrama for thinking about a poor writer's rest - I can say such a concept doesn't exist in reality. Yes, I write the chapters on weekends and edit and correct them on weekdays right before posting them.

**Advertisement*******Advertisement*******Advertisement** (Read it...)

For those who didn't _learn _English _at school:_

I need somebody for looking over my chapters for

spelling (it's rare for I don't understand the words otherwise)

and grammar mistakes,

and mainly for help me

_not to misuse phrases and words._

British _in advantage _cause I learn this 'version' (colour/color; autumn/fall etc.).

Thanks.

^.^

Amiréa


	14. Chapter 13 Door into the unknown

**Disclaimer: **I'm totally bored of it, see at some other chap.

**Dedicated** to Rayla for her long and lovely review. Be her example for other people. :P (who haven't written me yet).

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**Chapter 13 – Door into the unknown**

Roran watched Blödhgarm trying the door. He was bored of it at the time. They didn't do anything just caressed the patterns around it murmuring then whispered some spells with no effect. The wolfish elf had been doing this for almost ten minutes. Roran glanced up to see if they can finally go back when he stepped from the door, but Blödhgarm only turned to the space opening to the up-staircase.

A woman stood there motionless. Her pale face was calm not showing any emotion nor that she had run all the way they had done for a whole morning - only in five minutes. She wore black clothes and trousers yet she was more feminim and attractive than any human woman could have been. She had a sword on her belt – the memento of the war. She looked around slowly then smiled at Roran stepping closer to him. He stood up and greeted the elf bowing as he had seen it from his brother.

„Arya Svit-Kona." He hoped it was a right formul to greet an elf ambassador, but he could not be sure. _Damn politics and politeness. _The elf was not offended though at all - maybe she was more concerned on her oppositeness against Trianna and Blödhgarm. It was a reason he could not understand - but nobody had tried to explain him it.

„Roran. Good to see you. What are you doing here?" Her voice was silent and kind yet entirely comprehensible in the whole hall. Trianna started to tell her their journey but Arya stared only at Roran not glancing neither the magician nor the other elf who murmured something that sounded much like „This was really not necessary.", but Arya still didn't pay any attention for the elf of hers. The spell-caster stopped and blushed. Roran wondered what **difference** may be between them. He guessed it must have had something to do with the quarrel Eragon had had with Nasuada and the elven queen... _Islanzadí, this was her name,_ he remembered then.

Roran told her the happenings in some short sentences. She smiled one more time, nodded and walked to the door.

„May I?" She asked Blödhgarm, but her gaze was already on the door and the patterns. She began the whole caressing-story again, murmuring something which was however much longer than the ones the others used. Nothing happened but she just nodded herself not seeming disturbed by the successlessness. After some minutes some faint greenish light appeared at the sides of the door. Roran stood up. Of course his brother chose _this _woman. The green light grew stronger and emerald flames burnt on the sides of it now.

Arya suddenly stopped the chanting and extinguished the fire. She took a step back creasing her bows. Blödhgarm opened his mouth to ask something, but she closed her eyes and concentrated for a moment. Then she sat down onto the floor opposite Roran.

„And now?" Trianna asked with unhidden anger in her voice.

„Waiting." The woman answered with the same irritated tone.

„Waiting for what? To open by itself?"

„For Eragon to come and open it." Her voice was bored like she had been tired of explaining something for the thousandth time for a child. Arya sat silently with her eyes closed, her hands in her lap and looked even paler than she was when she had arrived. _Magic,_remembered Roran. The woman was so white because she used too much strength to try and open the door. She was really fighting her pains yet, as Eragon said. She got tired of the spell more than a healthy person would have therefore she had to sit down not to faint… realized Roran.

„Water?" He asked, trying to help somehow. He didn't need to panick now. She was going to be fine just in a moment. She must have been. „You want something to eat?"

„To _eat_?" She asked in a surprised voice, opening her eyes.

„Eragon's always hungry after such magic." He said the word „magic" unwillingly with a disgusted tone. The elf seemed to want to say something, but then just nodded.

„Thank you."

Roran looked into the bag for the lunch they brought with themselves. She opened her mouth but Roran went before. „No meat, I know." He handed her an apple and some bread. „If you ask me this nutrition is not… nutritious enough. You should eat things… which better fit to a human."

„I'm not human." She smiled weakly and closed her eyes. He hoped Eragon would come soon and give her some energy. The Rider had spoken him about the moving and restoring of energy one time. _Eragon may give her some, _he thought. Time passed and she regained some of her colour.

She stood up slowly and turned towards the stairs. After some moments he found out why: Eragon was running as well as the elves did and he was there in some minutes. He felt very stupid as he started to think and shout into the nothing, but Eragon had to know about the weakness of his love. _Eragon. Eragon. Eragon!_

_I'm there in a moment, what's so important, Roran? _So he _was_ close.

_Arya…_He could feel the appearing fear in his thoughts for a moment but then his mind was composed again.

_What's wrong with her?_

_She's weak. She tried to open the door with some magic and… but this isn't important. I saw as she would have fainted nearly… You said this was possible in case the magician didn't have enough energy?_

_Yes._

_She had to sit down. You should give her some energy. _He felt something strange then found out Eragon was chuckling.

_It's not so easy as you think… But I'll see what I can do for her. Thank you for warning me._

Eragon reached the hall. The soldiers didn't stand up. They had enough of magicians, elves and every stupid person caressing the stupid door. The know they cannot mine the diamonds out of the stone made them quite bored. Even the appearing of the _other _Shadeslayer could not cheer them up. They were exhausted of the nervousness the mysterious corridors' scouting caused them – they never knew which moment they would be murdered from some ancient elven magic trap.

The Rider went to the door. Trianna greeted him and he murmured something in a quiet voice. He greeted Blödhgarm with some movements in front of his chest murmuring some words for him too. Then he turned to Arya with some question in his eyes Roran could not understand, but it seemed to be clear for the both of them.

Arya waved towards the door as an answer. They stepped closer and started a speechless conversation. Roran guessed they were talking in minds.

He found it funny the sight of them not speaking only nodding and gesticulating, but the other elf's muscles stiffened at the sight. Arya caressed some patterns and he nodded, then caressed them too. Meanwhile he lightly took his hand on her waist to make her step somewhere else. The movement made Blödhgarm groan and Trianna hissed, but the two pretended not to hear them. Arya stared deep into his eyes then nodded.

Roran observed Trianna at the same time. He knew he had missed something. But what? The woman looked bored watching the pair – until Eragon leaned closer to Arya deep in the silent talk. Then it was all clear. _Jealousy!_The leader of the Du Vrangr Gata was jealous. Eragon chose Arya, not her. Trianna was the best in what she did – and it wasn't a fair comparison. She couldn't be better than an elf – not in fight, not in magic, not in beauty.

She could have much power – Eragon would never glance at her as a man did at a woman. Not – because of Arya. The elf was a princess, immortal, beautiful and intelligent. She didn't accept the love of Eragon, she didn't betray any tender emotion towards him. She caused him pain – and they were not a pair. They were not mates and as long as Arya refused the Rider, she hoped. But watching them being so close in full agreement, it was too much for her. Roran saw the anger under the mask she wore.

Yet, the reaction of the elf was incomprehensive for Roran. He guessed it had somethiong to do with that simple easy sentence Eragon had said Islanzadí before turning back offended. It was spoken he had cursed her with some ancient curse only the Riders knew - but also that he offended her and all the other elven lords and ladies along with her. Nobody knew what the exact hurt was - but it must have been heavy on their souls. The strangest was that Arya didn't act like all the others - but she was Arya, and not the other ones. She wore trousers not like other women, she fought like no other men (if he could believe Eragon) and used magic like no other magician.

She stepped back after a time. They visibly found out something because Eragon stood right in front of the door as if he was about to open it with the unvisible handles. He took off the glove of his right hand. Roran saw the large silverish pole in his palm and his fists clenched thinking at the way it was made. Eragon looked at it for a moment too, then placed his hand at the cavity in the middle of the door.

„Eka eddyr aí Shur'tugal…" He waited then spoke more in which he would swear he heard the words „Morzan", „Galbatorix", „Brom" and „Saphira". _God, if he starts to enumerate everything what happened to him since he found her egg we'll sleep here. What does he want with introducing our family-tree for_ _a _door_?_

He couldn't finish the thought when the door started burning with flames just as the previous time but with sapphire flames now. _If his sword was here, he could burn it too, just to match that beloved door, _he thought furrowing – suddenly fulled with some secret excitement. The door slowly shut open and they could finally catch the sight of…

The thousandth corridor behind it. Eragon smiled at the pleased Arya.

„Ladies first?"

**To be continued…

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**Note: **I know it's not so long. But it was round so, otherwise it would've turned weird and... and anyway I'm the writer and I decide the length. :D

**Our question today:** Why don't multiple personality-people have multiple time too?

bye,

Amiréa

**PS **I noticed something. Do everybody besides me love LONG stories or are there people on my side too? (Who don't start a story with more than 30.000 words.) I've just wondered.


	15. Chapter 14 Violet eyes

**Disclaimer:** Bored of it, see at other chap.

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**Chapter 14 - Violet eyes**

Amiréa watched the witch cautiously. Eragon considered her trustable enough to let her here, but she had her doubts. She seemed very strange, not being like anybody she had known before. A new experience so.

She was sitting on a trunk and watched her cook and mix some mysterious potion using a lot of different herbs.

The weird cat was lying on the ground besides her. It was taking a nap, visibly not being disturbed by the people around them. It was a werecat, here, in reality. She sighed. The more time she spent here the more unbelievable things she learnt. About women, elves, witches, spell-casters, magic, dragons, Riders, herbalists and werecats. Many things she thought sure became uncertain now, and many things she considered impossible were in front of her eyes. With Eragon, every day was a new adventure.

She curiously examined the plants she used. The herbalist – she had told her not to call her 'witch' – explained her many things about the herbs and potions she knew. It was the girl that asked about them and after some grumbling the witch showed her everything with such speed that must have been unfollowable for most people – but not for the dark-hairy little girl. After the witch rattled the names and their usages, she kept asking her, fighting her shyness. Some hours later the witch ascertained wondering how much her young audience had learnt and memorized.

At first Amiréa only wanted to distract herself and not think so much about Eragon. She felt herself lost without the Rider although she knew he had a lot to do besides babysitting her. She decided she would show him she was useful and not lost at all. But afterwards she caught herself on being deeply involved in a heated arguement about some of the herbs. She _was _interested in it.

She stopped mid-sentence when a strange girl entered the round place in front of her tent. _Violet eyes, _this was her first thought. She seemed about five-six years old not counting her eyes. She was dressed simply. Her hair was dark as midnight and her appearance visibly disturbed the people around them. Her pale face gave the suspicion that she had some illness – she was white and apparently not stayed much in sunlight. But the most conspicuous was the silverish mark on her forehead and her violet eyes.

„Here is the niece of the heroic Eragon, so. The gossips were true." Her voice was husky and bitter. It made her shiver.

„Be nice, Elva. Amiréa, this is Elva. Elva…" Angela gesticulated between them.

„I know who she is." The girl sat down and examined her unashamedly. They both paid attention to the witch chopping myrtral, a plant growing deep in the forests. To calm down herself, Amiréa repeated the usages and effects of it in mind. She forced herself to concentrate only on the witch who was entirely at ease with the presence of Elva. _If she is not disturbed, I won't be either, _she thought and asked the woman about the potion she was cooking.

For a time they completely forgot about the child. Amiréa could feel her eyes burning her skin with their gaze, but otherwise she didn't get involved to the conversation. She felt her curious looks on her pair of crutches too. She had learnt how to use them: another act she had done to show Eragon her usefullness. She didn't have to sit in the cottage while Eragon was scouting or flying with Saphira.

The huge sapphire dragon was her babysitter when Eragon was elsewhere. She had never contacted Thorn the way Saphira talked to her. The female dragon loved chatting and talking to her and was always very careful and kind to her. She was wise and so… old in some ways. Amiréa never had imagined dragons could be such creatures – Thorn and the ones in the tales were all described with some distance. They could transport the Riders and burn villages – but had no… personality. _The_ _tales are wrong or Saphira is unique, _she conclused. Either way, she was the most intelligent and also strangest creature she knew.

She was emotional too. Hard and soft at the same time. Just like Eragon. She knew they fought like nobody, killed many warriors. But he had cooked her broth when she was too weak to do anything herself and she hummed to her when the girl was restless of the unfamiliar noises surrounding the cottage.

From now, she would be the one cooking and helping them. She examined Angela slicing the strange bread she had baked. The witch would teach her use the potions and herbals – and she would help Eragon. He could use magic to heal himself of course, but there will have to be some benefit of it. _It's too bad I cannot use magic, _she thought. She could help him much more efficiently if she had been able to do impossible things.

When she had been very young, just a girl, as every servant of the king had, she had been tested if she could use magic. She had been tought to many words of the ancient language, but she could repeat them thousand times– all was in vain. Maybe if she had been talented, she had been cared more. But she wasn't, so she had only been somebody useless, somebody unwanted, somebody uncared for.

If she had had any talent in magic, she could have fought, could have helped Eragon in the fight. Just like that elf… Arya. She was brave and tried to kill Thorn – not like her, who had only been standing there with an opened mouth. She felt as if she had been a coward. She _had_ been a coward. _But from now, I won't be, _she swore. _ I will be useful. I cannot use magic. I cannot fight. I'm weak and only a girl. But I will be useful. _She carefully examined as Angela let the myrtal fall into the boiling mixture.

It was also magic. Using plants and herbals, mixing them and kill or heal with a liquid. Angela could not use magic – still she was powerful. As Amiréa wasn't able to kill with spells, she would do it with plants. She shivered from the thought of _killing_, making a life end, but everybody did that, every hour. The Varden fought for their peace – they had to kill. She still felt like throwing up from even the thought. _You don't have to do it. They don't expect you to do it. You're only a little girl, how could they expect it? _She tried to comfort herself, but neither way fit her.

_You don't have to decide right now. _ She said herself, but knew already she would never be able to kill. Not even if Eragon would be the one who wanted. She sighed.

„What's so heavy on your heart?" Angela glanced at her. „Have you gotten bored of herbalism so soon?"

Amiréa didn't know how to answer. The witch was also living at the Varden camp and didn't seem the least bit like a woman who would get scared of the fact of having to be involved in killing. She told her her other thought so.

„I would be… more glad, if I would be able to use magic. But I'm not." Angela furrowed.

„To use magic." She repeated. „Why would you want to be a magician? Magician and spellcasters are always feared and suspicious in people's eyes" Amiréa nodded remembering her own doubts when her ankle would have needed a healer. „and are also involved in politics. A strong magician is searched by both sides and they are the ones killed first. Healers are always exhausted in battletime or even die from the too little energy. They are targets too. The weak spellcasters usually die before twety-five. If you are the first to be killed in battle you don't have much chances to have a long life, just a glorious death.

On the other hand should you be strong and powerful enough, you get a high position and responsibility and even more danger than the weaker ones. Hard tasks, boring duties, poisionous politics, the most dangerous and exhausting missions. This is what they earn with being able to use magic. You're a hero anyway, you don't need to do anything further. Not unless you want to gain more power or glory or wealth." Angela rattled all this much at one breath, shook her head and gesticulated vehemently.

„I… I have just thought that if I could use magic… I would be more… useful." She admitted uncomprehending the reason behind the angry words.

„Oh." Angela blinked surprisedly. Wrinkles creased her forehead. She looked at her thoughtfully and after a time she reopened her mouth. „Eragon said it was you that hurt Thorn so seriously. Hurt with magic."

„Me? But this is…" She remembered then the duel at the plains. Her head had not been clear that time, she had lost too much blood, therefore her memories were hazy and crimson filled them. The crimson of the dragon and the crimson of the blood. Hers, then the elves'.

_»Crimson blood painted her vision and she could feel tears well up and run down her cheeks. The image of her blood burnt onto her eyelids._

_She heard her tortured screech and knew this sound would chase her until her death. She could hear Eragon's gasp and painful shriek. And she could hear Murtagh's… laugh. Although she feared of what she may see, she opened her eyes to stare into those deep red poles. Anger filled her whole body as she saw the victorious light in them._

_Somebody shouted and she realized that it was her. Hatred erased everything of her and suddenly she felt some strange power overwhelming her. The dragon was deadly close, she still didn't falter. She wished Thorn died._

'_Jierda!' The world went red and white in front of her eyes but after a moment blackness came to cover her with a soft quilt and she left all pain behind, dancing to another world in which her consciousness wasn't able to bother her with painful things any longer. Finally her peace came and she accepted it gratefully.« _

Amiréa sensed that her mouth was open and her tears filled her eyes again. She quickly blinked some to get free of the disturbing wetness. She _did _used a spell. _Jierda…_ It meant 'break' in the ancient language – she had tried thousand times and she failed every time. Could it be? Could she really be able to cast spells?

Now it seemed so. Maybe… she had just had to wait for the right time to come. Maybe she had had to wait for the time she could be free and had not been forced to serve the Empire any more. Maybe it had been Eragon. Maybe it had been only one occasion. But at least she had been able to do it once. She smiled sadly. It must have been only one occasion.

One occasion that had helped the last free Dragon Rider free the last dragon egg. Her little emerald dragon.

She realized that both Angela and Elva were watching her curiously.

„Magic…" She said with wonder in her voice.

„Magic." Elva repeated sourly. „You should follow your uncle's footsteps and curse people." Her words made Amiréa shiver. There was something in her voice. Something angry and sad at the same time. „I guess he didn't boast of it…"

„Elva!" Angela interrupted her. The girl glared at her mocking and seemed to continue, but after a moment she closed her mouth and stood up. She left the clearing without a word or saying goodbye.

Angela looked after her with a strange expression on her face. Then she turned back to her herbals murmuring some words that sounded cursing. It was unambiguous that she wouldn't speak about it any more. Amiréa tried to gain back her rythm again, but an uncomfortable feeling remained in her chest. That expression on her face was not light or easy; under the mocking she could see pain and sadness.

She couldn't avoid the thoughts entering her mind: what had Eragon done to her? What a thing that made even Angela angry? Did it have something to do with the silverish mark on her forehead or her violet eyes?

**To be continued...

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**Note: **_!Everybody: a huge thank for Theo3983 for betaing this chapter so quickly.!_

(I hope I succeed correcting every detail... The Ctrl C - Ctrl V solution came too late... XD OK, here's middle of night, for those who live somewhere outside Europe.)

Bye,

Amiréa

PS, I deleted the last 'chapter': I always get annoyed by the misused numbers... It's because of Prologue, I know... :'(

So, to let some mark though and don't feel cheated:

_The followings were in Author's Note here for 2 (TWO) days, for I succeed such long period without your reviews and the know you can read the latest update. Rest me in peace - for chronic craziness...

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_»_**Author's Note**

I know it's awful disounting a story like this, but I have no other option at the very moment. I do not discountinue it: I write it further, but yesterday I had to learn I need a beta reader who knows this language (not like me), and who can help me put the story into some clearer form. I do too much mistakes and misuse words maybe many times and I wouldn't read a story myself with such poor grammar either.

I do write it further, but at the same time I'll try to clear the previous chapters too, to be able to continue it on a higher level. I guess some (all?) of you are very sad/angry/disappointed/curious now, but I do need somebody from Britain. (Not because of rcism or anything – from other places would be OK too, it's only matter of time. I'm only 1 hour away later than GB, but 9 (!) hours later than in the US… I need somebody British – or somebody being able to be at computer at 3 am. for example.)

Well, anybody, who can be online between **7 am** and **1 pm** in **US Pacific Zone** (time used by ) or from **3** **pm **to **9 pm** in **GMT**. Badlucky me... There's no such beta, I know... Badlucky you... Never knowing the end...

I'm very sorry for that.

I hope I can keep writing without your reviews…

Sorry,

Amiréa_«

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	16. Chapter 15 Dust and ghosts

**Chapter 15 Dust and ghosts**

„Eka eddyr aí Shur'tugal." He waited a moment then stepped into the narrow corridor. „Brisingr." White light appeared to shine to the darkness. He walked calmly deeper. He felt the ancient magic whirl around him and took a glance at the carvings either side of the wall. The patterns told the tale of the first Dragon Rider, Eragon. He caught the glimpse of a diamond in one of the living-seeming pictures. It was Bid'daum, his dragon. He sighed. Always Eragon and the white dragon.

It was a heavy weight on his soul.

He didn't run – he wasn't in such a hurry. The light was sharp against the darkness. Up, on the surface it was daylight, although it was heavily raining and the skies buried into dark grayness. He didn't like late autumn – it was time when everything was muddy and the days were rainy and colder. It was time of agony and sadness. Even here in Fargrím**,** far in the south, winters were cold. Icy wind blew from the sea and people had to wear thick tunics against the coldness.

It was quite warm down here though, he was almost sweating under his heavy clothes – he had been flying high, above the clouds, where the air had been rare and freezing. He got to the second door and placed his palm onto the shape of a hand. The gedwëy ignasia shone with pale light and burnt his palm with the familiar unpleasant feeling. Every time he did this he felt some worry: he was a Dragon Rider, but every time he had to use the power this meant or prove it, he felt some odd tension in his body. White flames burnt and his way was free to the secret place nobody used by now.

He stepped in silently. He took off his upper clothes and his tunic and placed them onto a small table standing at the entering. He looked aroung walking inner into the hall. There were sofas standing all around amongst the great bookshelves covering the ancient stone walls from the bottom to the top. The sofas had large colourful cushions on them making more comfortable the reading or talking – sometimes the simple relaxing.

On his left there were five studies connecting to the larger hall with stone vaults. The soft and pale membrane with which it was possible to separate them was being sank into the stone wall. The hall was dim, no lamp gave light; it was late afternoon and all the windows had no curtains lowering the incoming sunshine, it made still the sense it was late at night. The hall was silent, only the wind breezed the leaves of the plants and the faint rain was knocking the glass with a soft sound. Everything was peaceful.

Nothing had changed.

Nobody was here – he did know, hope it would be so, but the sight of the empty hall and studies made him feel deep sadness. It was fifty-five years ago when the last Rider crossed the way to the hidden, forgotten place. He was not here to mourn about this though. He had a mission very hard to do: harder than any other in his life had been, harder than any other would be in his eternity-long lifetime.

He caught the glimpse of a standing man on the opposite wall. He slowly walked there. It was an elf staring motionlessly. He was wearing dark clothes, his white sheath went sharply against the black colour. His hair was black and long, it was binded with a leather strap. The face was ruled by calmness without counting his eyes which betrayed deep and dark emotions storming and fighting inside him. His face was timeless, eternity-like. He seemed only in his early thirties although he was almost a hundred years old. Time passed over him without letting signs – only that deep sadness filling his eyes, not fading ever, only that was changed. Only that.

The mirror hanging from the wall reflected his shape with perfect clarity. But it couldn't reflect his inside: the changes what had happened were not visible from outside. Maybe that little wrinkle at the corner of his mouth. Maybe that crease on his forehead. Maybe that bitter smile he would wear. Maybe nothing. _I cannot recognise myself,_ he thought. _So many things had changed and yet some many things had remained. It feels so much a new world than it was used to – and I still seem the same, everything seems the same._

He sighed and stepped to one of the tables. He found there quills and ink too. He pulled out the parchment he was about to write on and sat down. He popped his head to the one side and thought for a moment. Now, being here, in the forgotten town, he knew he wanted to write it, to have it in words, to be sure eternity wouldn't forget her. He didn't know where to start it though. He waited then sighed again, letting his thoughts enter from the safe strong box he closed them in.

_»"Sometimes I 'm scared of you." She sits down next to him. He glances at the woman. She hugs her legs and lies her head onto her knees. It is early in the morning, yet before dawn. The skies are gray with the promise of a new day, but the earth is still cold, the wind breezes the leaves with chill. She is wearing a long skirt, lavender as always; her cherry hair dances round her playing with the wind. She smiles softly._

„_You sit here every morning and just stare the clouds." She looks at him curiously yet with cautious eyes. She pays attention not to hurt people or ask them about their secrets – although nobody could say her no. She has power and he finds the sweetest and frightening feeling on earth this: she doesn't even know it. „What are you thinking about?" She whispers. Her eyes are trusting and vivid reflecting her emotions perfectly. He has never managed to say her no for a thing; it happens this time so too._

„_About past. And future…" He looks deep into her eyes to see her thoughts. Future means their future. Only some months are away until he returns from _Fargrím_ to Dorú Areaba. His education started sooner; she is some years younger, her dragon chose her one or two years after he got the gedwëy ignasia onto his palm._

„_Always about hard things." She whispers softly, not meeting his gaze. She knows he can read her thoughts. „You have to bow under heavy weights. You shouldn't let it disturb you so much." Her face is serious, her gaze far away in the distance. The field is full with blossoming loygrainnas, lavender and purple and white against the emerald green of the grass._

„_Yes, I have to, my beautiful Amiréa." He looks at her fists clenching in her lap and takes cautiously the tiny hands into his larger, stronger ones. He softly undoes her fingers and smooths them until they relax. He thoughtfully caresses with his fingers her skin. Their hands are knit together. _

_He cups the woman's face and turns it towards himself. She slowly lifts her gaze. Her eyes are bright and brilliant and knowing and trusting."_

The ink made a blot on the parchment, but didn't see it; he was far away in the past. Everything was silent and motionless besides him. Nothing showed the pass of time just the growing pile of finished pages on his left. He wrote fast, the words breaking onto the surface for the first time as if they had been waiting for very long just for the occasion to come. When he finished, the sun was late below the horizon although he didn't realize it. He didn't know he was sitting there for the whole night, just that he had written it at last – just that she would find her peace from now until the time he joined her.

He thought for a moment then stepped to the shelves. He admired the elaborated work of the carving one more time. It was a combination of wood and metal and he liked it very much. Actually he liked everything so ancient. It remained from the time of the first Riders, from the earliest years of the Order. It had been made by elves, by Riders. It was very special – no one used it besides them and it could be found only in hidden places such like this and on Vroengard, in the castle of Dorú Areaba.

Watching these patterns made him always feel better; feel he was one of the Riders, one of them. He read the titles of the books and established the order of them didn't change. This made him more comfortable: although he had been here sixty years ago last time, it was the same as then. No matter how much the castle, the world or the Order changed: this little, safe place remained unharmed.

He walked by the shelf to the corner until he reached the one he was looking for. He checked the titles around him and nodded himself: he remembered as if it had been yesterday. He looked around but nobody was in the hall. The Rider crouched down and searched the books he wanted. They were on their place. Nothing changed.

_»He's in the study of his master, standing in front of his desk. The world seems scary in his eyes, but he would die but not show it. He knows the necessity of him being taught here, not in Dorú Areaba, but still feels uncomfortable. He's deep in thought when his master says at last he can go and discover the southern land around _Fargrím_. Not that he would go outside. He will go and take a nap behind his dragon's wing._

_The castle is built by elves, he feels comfortable with the familiar patterns and carvings on the walls. It makes him feel better, as always. Joy fills him: soft sunshine lights the world, he's free, he's strong, he's a Dragon Rider. He crosses a garden and notices the glares and heads turning after him. He knows why, and knows it won't change. Not matter: he's got used to it already. Colourful dragons fly high above the castle and he admires the fascinating sight as the colours play as a rainbow._

_He pretends not to notice the looks the female elves take after him. He pretends not to notice the denying looks of other males. If he met the gaze of any of them, it would get to fight and sparring. Everybody knows about his skills and claims himself the right winning over him. He's all in white, pure white, only his hair is black. His clothes are loose but rich – all white. He doesn't care what other think, he prefers so. They think to boast of it; he likes to match his beloved dragon and to prove himself he's a Dragon Rider._

_He hears someone singing – he's not the only one finding joy in the good weather. He thinks for a moment and turns towards the sound. It comes from another garden, she sings to the flowers and the birds surrounding her. He remains at the door of the secret garden, not betraying himself with any movement. He listens to her song and feels happiness and the world suddenly on its perfect place._

_He watches her from his hidden position. Her hair is not like anything he have seen before: flows with the colour of cherry matching her eyes he notices surprisingly: they are between blue and pink… Violet, he finds the word fitting.«_

„Du Fyrn Skulblaka" he muttered reading the title. The story telling the fight between the dragons and elves were written with the Liduen Kvaedhí, the Poetic Script's calligraphic letters and it was richly illustrated with hand-made paintings only a master was able to. Yet, he was not interested in the wonderful book itself at the moment. He gently pulled out every four volumes of it from their place. His breathe hardened.

Some excitement and fear filled him. He felt as if he had gone back in time and had been that young, curious, burning elf again. He cautiously took the books onto the ground. He leaned closer to look into the aperture. The story was very long – and the books were very thick. The aperture was wide enough to be able to see the stone wall.

He took a deep breathe and placed his fingers onto the stones. It felt cold under his palm but soon warmed up when he muttered some lines in the ancient language. At first it seemed nothing would happen, but then with a soft crack, a little door opened springing out of the wall. It was hidden with magic; no one could find it not knowing where to search for it. He sank his hand into the hollow and pulled out a little piece of wood. He gently eased it out from the secret place and blew the dust of sixty years from the surface. His hand was trembling when he could finally see it clearly.

It was his name on it carved into the wood with young, burning letters. He had made that after he had learnt the use of magic at the second level. It was the memory of his very first years as a Dragon Rider, yet before he moved to Fargrím to study here. He took it back into its place smiling bitterly. The mirror may have showed the same as then would have had, but the world _had_ turned around since then.

He pulled out another wooden board from his bag. Some letters were readable in the middle carved into the wood, glinting with white in the faint light. Around the text were the same patterns: richly whirling leafy branches. There was a lavender-coloured flower in the right corner: a loygrainna. It was made with a special method: first carved into the wood the pattern, then filled with pale metal, the tívarna, and finally placed some crystals or gems in it – it needed much energy and time and yet more skill and patience. Such work could last **!** for months not counting the time the magician imagined himself the pattern.

It had its advantage though – such works lasted for eternity. This one was sixty years old and looked the day he had finished it – not counting the dust the large books had collected on it. The Rider caressed the fine work with shaking fingers, gently: it was so old and yet unchanged. When he had made it, he had been young, very young; but staring at this remained memento of old times, he felt the exact emotions he had had that day. His heart sank, salty tears burnt his eyes. His sight became hazy and the world grew dim in front of his eyes.

_»He is hurrying through the castle, his tunic whirling around him. His heart is aching to see her face again: the appearing smile on her face, her cherry hair, her violet eyes. He knows she will be wearing lavender clothes as always; it is her favourite colour. His dragon is flying high above him; he can feel his joy about his happiness and excitement._

_It has been long – she shouldn't have accepted that long mission. His heart has felt bad, suspected bad happenings about her journey. But now he'll see her face again._

_He'll be able to kiss her again, to taste her lips – they are sweet and soft, but there is strength and persistence in her too; she is brave. Braver than some think. She and him will hide somewhere and make love for hours, for days, for forever. There's no power being able to keep them separated any longer. He will kiss her and stick a loygrainna into her waist-long, heavy cherry hair and whisper her he loves her. He will ask her to wear his necklace and he will buckle it on her neck and they will be together and she will be his._

_He will ask her to sing him and listening her voice, as he did so many times, he will feel whole again.«_

The wood was black. He felt a tear run down his face and felt the well-known pain taking reign over him. It was as if his heart was ripped out and somebody would have tortured it every time stabbing a knife into it. He could handle it now however, he knew how to distract himself and cheat the waiting pain for the time he could be at his own and fall into the depth again.

He placed the board next to the other one in the hollow and reached out for the box hiding in his bag. When he pulled it out, his tear fell onto it wetting the surface. It wasn't big, just a little jewel box made of cherry-wood, decorated with diamonds and sledrïn, a purple or lavender gem mined in the deep of Du Weldenvarden. The loygrainna was more detailed here, and played in a deepest shade of purple.

There was a necklace inside it: soft chain made of the white metal of tívarna with purple medallion decorated with a sledrïn and a diamond between leaves. He took both the closed box and the pergamons into the hollow then closed the hidden place. When he took back the four volumes, he felt himself to be freed. Not entirely - he would never be so -, but lighter, more free.

„Rest in peace, my beautiful love. Wait for me on that other side, my beloved Amiréa." He whispered in a husky voice with his tears running down his cheeks.

He hurried back to the door catching his clothes from the table he had placed them and ran through the corridor, through the difficult system of corridors and stairs he knew so well. He hurried out from the old castle, far from the images that were chasing him.

_»He leans closer and touches her lips with his. She doesn't draw away. He pulls her head closer to his and forces her lips to move with his. She wouldn't need to be forced though; she kisses back and he sees white and black and the violet of her eyes on his eyelids and _tastes_ the scent of loygrainna and _smells_ honey-sweet._

_Her breathe is hard as she stares up at him from behind her cherry-coloured eyelashes. She mutters her words into his mouth blushingly._

„_You kiss very well, Vrael-elda."«_

The sun was rising on the horizon painting everything into warm colours. A majestic white dragon arose from the earth with his Rider on his back.

* * *

**Disclaimer**: (concerned for specially this one chapter - for other chapters see at Prologue) This one chapter goes almost completely to me, it more or less loosely clings to the world CP imagined and wrote down, but otherwise the whole idea and all characters playing a role in this exact chapter are owned by me as an exception from the story itself. Huge thanks for him for the creation of the concept though. Words belong to the English language, I have nothing to do with them. At some parts the grammar is also created by me, not really by want. I shouldn't be so impatient and pushy, but so am I.

* * *

**Note: **I have never said it and also I wouldn't ever say it again - but please, only for this one time - consideration towards the chapter. Break your opinion gently to me. This chapter is my favourite ever, and I feel like I'd stop with the story if you critized it sharply. Do it any time - but not now. Tell me how bad this stroy actually is - but not now. Any other time I'd be interested in what you honestly think about the chapter - now save it for another time. I don't care.

**Actually, I'd be glad if you didn't review this at all, if not necessary.**

**Those who don't understand it:** 1. Read it again. 2. You still not understand? No matter. It's going to be clear. Don't ask me about it. My imagination ran wild. You'll understand it later and if not, it won't cause any problem in the future. I promise.

Amiréa

**PS** I don't know how many of you became the suffering victims of my depression but I'm very sorry for that. My nerves are quite not in the best condition recently. Anyway, I'm sorry for involving you into my personal problems or mood.


	17. Chapter 16 Secretly remained

**Chapter 16 – Secretly remained**

Eragon almost fell over Arya when she stopped abruptly. There was another door in front of them. Arya passed her fingers over the shape of a hand and smiled up at Eragon stepping aside. He took a deep breathe from the air. They were too close to each other, her scent made him get stunned as he could smell it more intensively being in such a little place together with her.

Sapphire and emerald light shone above their heads making the atmosphere mysterious, heavy with secrets and ancient magic. He could sense it in the air, the heritage of thousands. He glanced at Arya and saw she had no anticipation of his next step. He observed the patterns, the light decorations on the wall for another moment after stepping in front of the second door. He felt Arya become disoriented because of his hesitation.

_You know you're right, there is no sense thinking it over and over again. We both know that this is the right decision. _Saphira sensed her Rider's fear immediately since he was not able to hide it. He never was. _If she get angry at you for this, she's insane._

Eragon looked at Arya then back at Trianna and Blödhgarm. „This is a very well hidden place," he began. „and it was built by the Riders. For the Riders." He could see the comprehension and indignation appear on her face. „And I don't think they have planned it so that anyone else besides Riders should go inside."

Both Trianna and Blödhgarm gasped being disgusted at his words but he was much more interested in her behaviour than theirs. He could stare at her though; she put on her composed mask again. He felt sad about hurting her even if just a little bit – her tears and painful cry lived vividly in his memory -, though it was necessary as Saphira had pointed out.

„I think we cannot talk about such… rights in such a special case." Blödhgarm said, seeing his princess was not going to react on his words.

„Lady Nasuada would want to get a full description of the discovery." Trianna complaint agreeing the elf not the first time.

„I think I may have not expressed out myself clearly. You stay _outside_." Eragon knew he was gaining them his opponents but he didn't know what the secret chamber could possibly hide. _I hope it's something valuable for this mess. _„Nasuada will accept _my _description."

„And Islanzadí will accept _mine_." Arya said before Blödhgarm could open his mouth. She turned to Eragon. „Does my presence disturb you, Eragon-elda?" They stared into each other's eyes for a moment then Eragon bowed.

„Of course not, Arya Dröttningu." He used the same official tone she had and knew it was the best he could achieve - yet he felt unpleased. He didn't like the idea getting her into trouble knowing she was too weak after her illness and magic. She accepted the energy he had given him by taking his hand onto her waist, but she was still not in her best condition.

He still remembered the pleasant way her soft shape, warm body felt under his palm. The memory was torturing him now. He waited until Trianna, Blödhgarm and Roran disappear at the end of the corridor. When he could hear the soft 'click' the closing door made, he sighed. They were left alone.

At least in bodies.

Saphira anxiously circled in the air above the castle, being annoyed by her incapability to go down with Eragon. She was just so much in her own body to be sure she wouldn't fall, otherwise he pulled over her mind into his body – like they had done such times one of them had been injured or not able to stay in his or her physical being. His mind was quite crowded anyway: Glaedr wanted to know about everything while his Eldunarí had to say in a bag bound to Saphira's saddle.

Eragon didn't want to risk more than he was going to anyway.

He sensed Arya's questioning thought brush his mind. He glanced at the woman and opened his palm for Saphira's sake, murmuring a spell he had never used before. Silverish light flashed and Eragon could immediately feel the difference. The dragon slightly left his mind.

„What was this for?" Arya furrowed.

Eragon replied after some moments when he could feel lighten the unpleasantly strong hold in his mind. „If a magician uses this, it helps him find his way to the place he wants to go. You must know that version. This is a stronger one for Riders." He stopped. „It helps you find your dragon and vice versa. Though it's not the most comfortable way to do it." He felt Saphira's disorientation while she landed.

_You're a mile away from the palace, under the forest, _she informed them. _There's a higher hill, you're in the valley, a hundred yard from a brook. It is the same brook flowing in front of your cottage. It isn't far of it, just some thousand yards. I guess… You're not so deep under the ground now. The last staircase you got up to the hall, before you opened that tricky door, equaled the difference. You're not so deep under as you've thought, it's just because… _She used her claws to dig up the soil in front of her. She contentedly smiled when her guess was proved . _There's a hard stratum of rock… granite. The soil is just a few feet deeply covering it._

_Stay close. _Eragon placed his palm with the gedwëy ignasia onto the hand-shape of the door. It felt cool under his palm like the other one at the end of the corridor. „Eka eddír aí Shur'tugal."

It was so easy – and a brilliant solution at the same time. Only a Rider was able to open the door as the ancient language required honesty and believe. However, it was so easy and short, it made the magic-hidden chamber or hall fit for everyday-use.

The door opened and they could step into the strangest place he had ever seen. He heard Arya gasp behind his back; this time he didn't let her go first – maybe there were other traps too. His instincts said him there was no more, yet he was anxious about her. He cautiously stepped into the hall and looked around with wondering eyes. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He glanced at Arya and saw the same excitement on her face that filled him.

The woman grasped his arm. „This place was built by elves, by Riders, thousands of years ago!" She whispered, tears filling her eyes. He knew she was right yet it was hard to accept – he recalled the sight of Ellesméra with the tree houses and couldn't understand how it got to that. This was much more like the work of humans, just more elaborated and refined. It used stone and wood and gems and diamonds like the dwarfs. Maybe because of the ancientness of the built.

Then he heard a sound he had never believed to hear in such place, in such case.

Arya laughed.

Not the soft, polite laughter she would have, not the bitter, cynical laughter she would have: the most honest, the rarest and the sweetest laughter he had ever heard. At that moment, he would have accepted if there had been giant beasts, unending sufferings, bloody wars or murders in the future of his. This lonely, tinkling laugh would be enough payment for him. Though, the magic continued.

She took his hand into hers and pulled him towards the other part of the hall where heavy curtains covered the windows. She hurried and drew them aside with a graceful movement of her other hand using magic unspokenly. Her expression made sure she was hoping for another fascinating happening: and for Eragon's wonder, she was right.

When she opened the casements, soil fell onto the carpet covering the ground. She didn't look at the mess though – there was a large vault at the furthest part of the hall. She hurried to it, pulling Eragon with her as their hands were still knit together. She opened the large aperture with a movement too.

They stopped in the middle of the hall and looked around. In front of the windows and the large aperture covered soil the carpets. The light flew freely through the windows, shining with late afternoon's softness. The aperture had a soft membrane: it remembered Eragon the one covering the aperture of his tree house in Ellesméra. Or better say the tree house of Vrael, he would use. Saphira's head appeared in it after a moment, being happy to come in to them at last.

They stood silently and Eragon got frightened the woman recognised her mistake and tried to find out a way not to hurt him more than she had had with taking his hand. Her tiny palm was warm in his hand and a hot, comfortable feeling radiated from it into his whole body.

He sighed and closed his eyes letting her hand fall.

The next thing he felt, made him open his eyes wide again with shock. Arya flung her arms around his neck crying. He instinctively embraced her back. Her soft shape trembled with her cry, but when she lifted her head to look into his eyes, he saw overflowing joy in them. She laughed again with such sound nobody could resist: neither he could.

They stood there laughing happily in each other's arms for a while and he felt his heart melt into some warm liquid. It was like tasting some ancient brandy; it filled his body and warmed his heart. The faint afternoon light was softly surrounding them like a quilt.

He closed his eyes once again and knowing he was making a mistake, buried his face into her raven hair. The effect came immediately: he smelt her scent and enjoyed the flavour, the touch of her silk hair, the feeling her head rested on his shoulder – and he felt his love bursting into flames.

He felt her fragile body pressing against him, her back smooth against his embracing hands. His love burnt with never-seen intensity. He could feel the urge to cup her face and press his lips against hers, to taste her on his tongue. He resisted, using all his remained consciousness. He stood there silently and motionlessly for as much time he was able to.

Finally, he drew away and weakly smiled at her. His heart lost all the walls defending him, he was naked. He wondered why she had let this come so far, but he could see the same disorientation on her face he was feeling. He cleared his throat and just to do something walked to one of the windows.

_I guess this was a garden someday. _Saphira said him. The Rider surprisedly sensed the overflowing joy that filled Saphira: it was because of Arya, not because of the explosion. Glaedr remained silent. This wonderful place took their words away. He walked to one of the bookshelves and observed the titles for a moment. There were some he recognised or remembered, but most of them were new for him.

_This library contains every side of the life of the Riders! Here is their art, their books about special magic, special wards only useful for them, their history from the beginnings; the foundation of the Order. Books about growing plants, about philosophy, about the making of these ancient patterns… Everything, we couldn't learn now's here!_

_We can improve our knowledge without leaving the Varden! Imagine how much we could study about ourselves and the Riders if Nasuada and the others decided to stay here! Even if just for winter!_ Saphira agreed, feeling the same excitement.

_Hope the war will be delayed for winter and you can learn further. _Glaedr lost his never disappearing calmness too. _ I didn't know about such place… Maybe we could find out who and when had built this secret study-place. The knowledge must have lost during the centuries. This must be the reason for we didn't discover it sooner… and also that Galbatorix didn't discover it when the castle was in his hand._

Arya stepped next to Eragon. "I will ask my mother to delay the war. It won't be easy as my people had finally moved out from our forests after a century… They would like to finish this war as soon as possible but they will understand our arguments. And the hope the third dragon would hatch will get them to cooperate."

She caressed the titles of some books with a gentle movement. He couldn't help, his imagination freed under his control and ran pictures in his head in which she caressed not the title of a book so gently, but _him_. He took a deep breathe. Such thoughts wouldn't help him now. Her eyes were brilliant emerald as she ran her fingers over the shelf and went to the windows Eragon had stopped a minute ago.

He followed her as if he had been bewitched by her. He stared out of the window. When their gaze met again, her smile was sad. "This must have been beautiful." She turned back to the window and walked by; he followed her. "There was a garden here. All was green and colourful… Flowers blossomed and Riders sang and walked and sat here on benches to enjoy the sunlight and the greenness… They sang to the plants and the flowers as we do in Ellesméra… But they had a castle and study-rooms made of stone and wood not like us." As the woman talked, he _saw _her words come true, _saw _the secret garden filled with Riders – but as she stopped, the imagination disappeared and the raw reality took its place.

"This is hidden by magic: nobody from outside can see this garden. That path leads to the brook and I guess to the other side of the valley. There are strong stone walls bordering it from each side: only a dragon can fly in without dying in the process."

_A dragon who__m a Rider permits going in, a Rider who is already inside or somewhere around. And with that magic making sure Galbatorix or any Forsworn is not able to come in, this place is the safest on earth right now – only we can enter these rooms not being forced by Galbatorix, _Saphira added. _This is our own place. The only disadvantage is that it's so far from the castle and that nobody can come in besides us… For example Amiréa._

_This place isn't planned for living here; it's for teaching and studying. For be__ing able to become absorbed in issues. But it will be the best place for us to study more about ourselves._

"You should notify Nasuada that we haven't died. I mean, yet. She must have talked to Trianna by now."

"Good idea." He smiled back at her while he was cursing inside. _I cannot forget about the whole world just because I'm with her! I have duties! _He searched for Nasuada and cautiously brushed her mind. The woman reacted immediately, being suspicious, but when she felt it was him, she let him inside her mind. He knew he should have contacted her through Trianna as he would, but he felt no intentions to hear the magician's thoughts now.

He told her everything they had discovered. He was so focused on correcting his mistake and notify her clearly with facts and not emotions, he didn't notice the strangeness and the uncomfortable feeling in her as she was being well-controlled. When he observed the situation she was in, his mood turned quickly opposite. Nasuada told him the situation rawly, almost rudely. He could understand her though.

When he looked onto Arya's face, his joy and happiness were all disappeared. Guilty filled him and fear from future. He cursed inside when he drank in his love's shape for the last time.

He would not have such a chance for indeterminable time.

* * *

Love you,

Amiréa


	18. Chapter 17 Slipping from your fingers

**Chapter 17**** – Slipping from your fingers**

The Lake Leona was glinting in the sunlight. It was early in the afternoon, not much after lunch. The air was heavy with hotness as if the summer sun would have wanted to show its strength for a last time before winter comes and gains power over nature and weather. A group of slídras circled above the mirror of the lake. Their feathers were colourful playing in blue, vermilion and green. The warmth did not seem to disturb them or make them weary; they would continue their journey to the south soon.

Every bird had to be with the group to be safe on the long journey and they were worrying about being too late and remain here alone. Finally, the group finished its circles and flied from above the lake to the south. In some days, it would be Eragon that would see them. But he wouldn't be locked into his castle.

He would be free and able to decide whether he wanted to fight or not. He was forced too – but not by magic, not by oaths, not by betray; by conscience. Murtagh turned back from the window and looked around in his room. As always, he found nothing that could distract him or calm him.

His chamber was in the highest tower, far from the ground or the disturbing sounds or people. Far from everything. It was as if he hadn't existed: the servants carried him food or anything he wanted, but otherwise he was alone. He hoped Galbatorix wouldn't care for him for a time.

He prayed silently the Varden would rest wherever they were and wouldn't want more battles. He would have needed a rest along with his dragon. Thorn was weaker than any time – and it was exactly his niece that had hurt him. He still wondered how she succeed to use magic and yet more, how she succeed to use magic against _Galbatorix_. Her oath had broken, this was clear. Her true name had changed, this too. And still…

He couldn't imagine how she had been able to make such a serious injury she had had. It was insane.

He heard a soft knock on his door. A servant stepped in, her gaze not meeting his. He waved her to took his meal onto the table. He waited until she disappeared again, then stepped to it just to distract himself and do something. It was a colder, fresh fruit soup first, it tasted good. The cook must have used all his talent – usually he didn't sensed tastes. He recalled the meals he had gotten in Farthen dûr and knew those hadn't been half so carefully prepared as this.

But there, he had been free. There he had been in prison and been yet much freer than in Galbatorix's service. There, he had been a _man_. A warrior and Morzan's son. But he had been a person, not a… nobody who had to be cared of. Not a monster. He recalled the time he had spent with just talking to people – servants as well as the leaders, or the leader's children. Or at least one child.

He knew it had been Nasuada that had become the new leader after his "escape", but still, he couldn't make the image of that enchanting young girl and the feared leader's image he had known from the broadcasts. He knew he didn't have to, though it disturbed him that his brother used _her_ name for his reign. Eragon should have searched for another marionette. The food turned tasteless in his mouth but he didn't notice it.

He missed the long talks with her, the long afternoons they had spent together. However, he would have to kill her if they met. Just because his brother didn't find anybody else for his little games. He made a disgusted sound and wondered what made Nasuada agree his plans. He knew it wasn't love: he was too much obsessed with his elven blackie to be able to hide it and cheat Nasuada.

However, love must have not been necessary for a "closer relationship", he knew that very well. Such "closer relationship" yielded his little niece. _But, if we think about it more carefully, it was_ doubly _a closer relationship. Of course who could expect something other from a bastard woman than to give birth to another bastard from who knows which man._

He needed it. He needed to think she was a bastard – a _double_ bastard – and she deserved her death. He needed this thought. _She had loved you… _Thorn said him. _She considered you her hero. It was you that handled her the way she would hate you, you know that. You had planned it the first time you met. Remember that._

_I remember but what? That I was the one causing her death? That I was the one causing your injury? Your almost death?_

_Maybe it would be better. _Thorn answered sadly. He knew his reply very well though; this was the thousandth time they had spoken about it.

_No. _Only one, categorical no.

As always.

***

Reinna was sitting on a shorter wall when the attendant stepped to her. The girl was watching the people working on the yard twisting her curly blond hair around her fingers thoughtfully. When she glanced at the attendant, she met a familiar gaze. The girl standing there nervously was her friend. She could see on her face she was in trouble.

She was carrying a tray in her hand with two plates on it. She recognised it immediately: no one would get such delicious meal – save for Murtagh. She felt sorry for her. The Dragon Rider was known for his unpredictable behaviour.

„I haven't known you're the one carrying his food." She said furrowing.

„I don't. Just for now. This'll be the first time." It was almost incomprehensible since she spoke with closed mouth. Reinna suspected not to fall apart crying. Her lips were trembling and poor girl nearly poured out the whole meal with the shaking of her body. Reinna thought for a moment, and decided in a moment – as always. This was not going to be the first time she would get into trouble by a sudden decision and also not the last one.

„Give me it." She pulled out the tray from her shaking hands just in time before all the soup would end on the ground. „He doesn't know you, right? Just give me it and I'll say I'm you. Nobody would notice it. Anyway I have been waiting for a while to see him, but he never comes down from that tower. This will be a good time for me."

„This is very kind of you, but..." She could speak though – only to her back. She didn't wait for her reply.

Reinna climbed up all the way to the top. When she arrived the wooden door, her heart was racing and not only because of the long journey. She knocked on the door before she could turn back as she had become more and more frightened with every step she had taken on the stairs.

There was no answer and this made her mad. Even a Dragon rider could answer a knock, couldn't he? She opened the door with a little more noise she should have had, but the man didn't seem to notice it. He nodded and waved her towards the table to take the tray on it. Afterwards she waited a moment but he didn't say anything more, nor did, so she turned on her heels without a word. Escaping the room she closed the door behind her back silently.

She was thinking about it more than an hour: the silent man. He didn't say her a word. He was a rich man, everybody knew the king gave him the land here in a miles large circle around the town, but nothing he did, nothing he said showed this wealth. Only his clothes - he wore rich clothes with golden embroidering. His crimson blade, Zar'roc, was on his hilt and she knew he had used it already, not like the other men in Bellatona. However, he didn't care much about the land, the soldiers or the people, just sat high in his tower not doing anything for his estate.

He was handsome – not the usual way, his brown hair tangled and a bit too long for a warrior, but softening his square face, his brown eyes hard and never smiling even if his mouth turned upside and his whole appearance just too… wild. But there was something the way his chin showed his steady will, his body well-built and tall. He looked _strong_.

He never showed up in Bellatona and in the castle just for as much time as he needed before flying off on his dragon. He was mysterious and they said him to be a dark, powerful lord. Yet, she felt something other in his personality. Maybe loneliness. He had no mate nor did he meet woman of _that_ sort. He just... existed. She knew she was making a mistake but decided she would find out who this mysterious man was.

***

Murtagh hurried down the stairs cursing. _What the hell does he want AGAIN?_

_Calm down, Murtagh. We can't know. Maybe he just wants to check or give us a new mission._

_He can go with these missions of his to the…_He stopped the mental shouting as he arrived the meeting room. An attendant ran away with shocked expression. He wondered the reason behind it, but seeing the terrified faces of the elderly in the room, he could find out it was his _face_ frightening them. He sighed. From the corner of his eyes, he took a glimpse of a young girl with long blond curly hair. She was faintly familiar – now part of his mind registered the sight to be able to throw it on the surface in one of his nightmares.

"Murtagh." The king's face appeared in the mirror. He wondered for a moment why he wanted to use a mirror for communicating as having Thorn's Eldunarí he could see not only his words but the thoughts behind them too, but after a moment he realized it must be the king who didn't want to share his thoughts with them. And this meant something very bad – or very nothing. He was unpredictable and he also tried to be so very much.

"I need to know everything about some people and you're the one who may help me." Murtagh couldn't hide his surprise – Galbatorix had checked his mind the way he hadn't let do for the Twins and there could not be any thoughts or memories the king wouldn't remember and he would. "The first is… Of course I don't have to warn you to handle these things as secrets, do I?" He nodded and the king could take it the way he wanted. This was just formally a question, they both knew that: his oath wouldn't let him do against his will.

"Well… I guess the rebels would stay at Feinster now. They don't have much people nor the wealth to live through a winter. Much of their "army" will die. So, I guess you will not be needed for the further parts of this year. I have some… plans in move and I want to see the effects before you'd attack again. You'll stay at Bellatona though." He must have been in a good mood. He obviously intended this as a favour, but he feared the followings and didn't know what he could do so separated from everything. He was going to be crazy for the end of the year.

"And the… people in question?" He had quickly learnt to not only follow Galbatorix but remember his every word – those the king himself forgot as well as the ones that wouldn't mean anything. He remembered each word the king had said him since the beginnings. Galbatorix smiled.

"The first is an elf…" He furrowed – he had never seen an elf not being able to go to Du Weldenvarden or what their hide was called. Only one time… "Arya." He whispered it with him. "I guess you remember." Vivid memories danced in his mind, of vivid days that would never be forgotten by him.

"She's the elf we… Eragon rescued from Gil'ead escaping Durza." _Weak body with the never-disappearing expression of torture on a heart-shaped inhuman face._ "She was poisoned with something fatal." _Silk black hair falling in her face._ "The journey was all a rush." _A back full of injuries painting everything crimson, marks of cruelty. Blood._ "She fought at Farthen dûr." _Battlefield under a large white city. A plain full with dead. Orange smoke, dark magic killing the king of dwarfs. Draught and aching dryness in his throat._

"She was flying with Eragon when we fought for the third egg." _The dancing elf coming closer with graceful movements._ "Thorn killed her when she tried to stab him in the heart." _Painful shriek in the air, blood and pain together. Crimson. Heavy scent filling the air._ He cut the way of the images.

"She's alive and in love with your brother. Who is not your brother just halfway." The king's words pattered heavily. He gasped at them. He could have waited something like that. _In love with your brother… _It's insane! He barely heard the other part of the sentence. She would not - he could not - they would not… the elves would not…

And yet he could see on his face it was true. It was true.

Eragon fucked an elf.

He sensed his mouth had fallen open so he quickly closed it. "I guess you don't know more about your niece?" Murtagh moaned. Again her. What could still come now? "She's living with Eragon in a cottage a mile far from the castle. He seems to feel something of her value... We can just hope he didn't find out _everything_ about her. A week ago, they found a… secret place remained from the time of the Order." He made a disgusted sound at this word. Murtagh wondered how the secret place could remain _secret_.

Galbatorix's face was very cautious observing carefully his expression and reaction, measuring every single word. "It was spoken that Vrael had hidden something secretly before the war. I didn't… give much trust these gossips. But now… Eragon seems not ot be as stupid as I've thought and he's getting newer and newer chances. I can't let this go so far..." He stared somewhere far in the distance. Murtagh absorbed his words with much attention – such a good occasion was very, very rare. "I have a spy working in the Varden camp. We won't attack until it turns out what _weapon_" he whispered this almost inaudibly, "may hide there."

"It will be as you want, _my king_."

* * *

**Note: **I know, I know... This was written at that depressed period of mine (interesting question that I was the one making it so... depressive or this was the one making me feel depressed... I truly don't know as neurotic as I am... :D). Actually, the story is turning quite serious, in three or four chapters, the part I call "first book" (love fancy names and titles can't help it) ends and I guess at least some would like to hear the other part of the story too... I'll have a holiday and afterwards the story'll come into a new motion. At least I hope so.

**By reading remember please **that I'm writing the chapters from different point of views and what the main character of the current chapter thinks is what he/she thinks, not necessarily the truth. Remember that before asking about some parts of this chapter which I know some will ask...

Also, which is said in a dialogue is not necessarily true, just what the character wants to say to somebody else.

Love you,

Amiréa


	19. Chapter 18 Decision to make

**Chapter 18**** - Decision to make**

_»__She lets her emotions take reign over her body – consciousness disappears from her, she flings her arms around his neck crying. He embraces her back, she can feel his surprise - his muscles stiffen. Her body trembles , she's crying and laughing at the same time not knowing which emotion is stronger, but both frees her soul, makes her fly. She lifts her head to look into his wondering, deep brown eyes and she laughs again with her truest laugh, her truest emotions filling it. He laughs back at her._

_They stand there laughing happily in each other's arms for a while and she buries her face to the curve between his neck and shoulder. This place is made for her head. He smells good: fresh– obviously he had flied above the clouds on his sapphire dragon, soap – he washes his own clothes, this one too, and another one, his own one not describable, not definable – just him. Arya knows he would have this last even after a battle. _

_Then she remembers, she could smell it after a battle, __when they learnt Oromis and Glaedr had died. He hugged her tight and safe like this that time too._

_The faint afternoon light __is softly surrounding them like a quilt. She likes sensing his face on her shoulder, in her hair. She wonders if he feels the same disorienting emotions as her. She instinctively presses her body against his to cover him, to feel him the most it's possible. She likes the way his hands embrace her, the way he holds her in his arms – as if she was very fragile and very valuable, a treasure. And she knows he thinks so._

_Again, she has to remember herself he loves her. She finds out one more thing: he must want to kiss her right now, he must long for touch her lips –__ and it must be uncomfortable, torturing to be so close to her. Her lips suddenly feel other, full and wet and longing and aware. She becomes conscious of her every cell meeting his body, every places he could kiss her on – she closes her eyes. The awareness is heavy and hot and strange – she has never sensed such before._

_His lips are cautious on hers, warm and soft. He's uncertain, not knowing her answer, not sensing the fire filling her body. Her lips part and her tongue slips into his mouth with a shocking sense of joy and her whole body bursts on fire. Her arms are embracing harder his neck and his hand slides into her hair gently, holding her head. The other is adventuring down at her waist: he pulls her close, very close, forcing Arya to press against him so tightly they can feel every little movement of the other._

_Her heartbeat is heavy and quick, blood is throbbing in her ears, her pulse is racing; not only hers – his beats against her chest. __She ascertains his body is muscular and masculine, as she has suspected. His chest is wider, his hip narrower – Arya's hip can surround his, her breasts hard against the clothes which suddenly become rough and she should be ashamed of this but she doesn't feel ashamed, doesn't think about it, only wants more. She doesn't know exactly what, but more and Eragon seems to know exactly what this more should mean._

_He gently moves his palm __up along her spine – she shivers – and opens the first clasp gathering her clothes. She gasps for a moment but then she finds it is the exact thing she wanted: his warm palm brushes her bare skin and hotness is radiating from there into her. She guesses she will die in a moment gasping for air with quick breathes but she wishes this dying would never end. _

_He works quickly__ with the clasps on her back, not leaving her lips for a moment. She catches the cloth on her shoulder as he undoes all and there remain nothing to hold her clothes on. Suddenly, fear fills her, making her head clear.«_

Arya felt hotness filling her face. She cautiously looked around her if anybody could see her blush. Nobody seemed to notice it. She cursed inside. Of course, it was obvious, it _should _be obvious: having embarrassing reveries was not the best method to occupy herself at an important political meeting. Still, her dream chased her since the night after the discovery when Eragon had taken her in his arms – her mind had changed the events a little bit afterwards.

It was not unusual from her to form dreams during her rest at night of the actual events she lived at day, her mind often played her images she would have liked to come true, memories she missed from her green forests, patience she wanted to have. But this was the first time to have such… embarrassing images.

She stared at the man from the corner of her eyes. Eragon played to be calm but she could see on his face he was almost as much annoyed as she was. This made her content a bit. The meeting stretched far too long and they still hadn't decided a single thing. That may have been better so though.

Erlendr had tried to force her, to form her will the way they had wanted, her mother had wanted. Yesterday, she had deadly quarrelled with her mother. She knew though next time would come soon and she'd not be able to disobey her any longer. Now, she won but only because of Eragon's trust and the egg. She knew she was acting childishly, but she hated feeling forced. She was free and needed freedom.

She was not a child any more yet her mother made her act like that – she couldn't help about it. She should have saved her calmness and coldness against her, but she was distracted, she was unguarded. She had experienced a wonder, a true wonder only some minutes ago and she lost her patience. She not only yelled at her queen but used Eragon as an argument. She still remembered her mother's face as she mentioned him in front of her.

She got crazy, this could be the only reason she had dreamt that ridiculous dream. She didn't feel _ridiculous_ though, just… curious and excited. _If even you tell lies yourself, then who will tell you the truth? _She silently sighed. This rule of hers made her situation far more complicated. Now, she must think about why her mind had put these pictures into her head and yet more, why she was_ enjoying_ them.

Right. She enjoyed his companion and the… physical contact between them. She couldn't deny this. However she was not able to lead the thought further; the meeting was over. She glanced out of the window and for her surprise had to ascertain it was almost evening already. Again, they spent a whole day not doing anything. Wonderful.

She silently walked with the others to the door. After a moment realization she quickened her steps knowing Erlendr would follow her. Right now, Nasuada and Orrin engaged him enough but in some moments, he was going to be free again. She hurried through the main gate of the palace – almost falling over the waiting Grûlthar.

The blonde man was obviously waiting for _her_. She glanced at him but without stopping passed by. She didn't have any patience for the crazy man right now. And Erlendr would come after her soon. _It's crazy, _Arya hissed. _I'm fleeing for him like I would have done a true crime or… killed my mother. Which I'll do if she doesn't let me live in peace. _

Though seeing the man remembered her the other time she had compared the human to Eragon. It had helped then, why wouldn't it work now too? She made a large detour through the forest to have time to calm down. Grûlthar was spying at her, this seemed quite obvious. _What luck we used some extra wards to defend egg in the camp…_She thought shuddering at the possibility he could follow her even there. _How can he be so jealous? Or… possessive?_

She wondered about this for some minutes and only after that noticed she the fail of this argument. Eragon had behaved possessively with her as well. He embraced her twice just in the last week. It was not something a simple man should do. Not counting the Dragon Rider was definitely not a _simple _man. However, she had to also admit it had been her that made the first movement towards the other both times. Not Eragon. He just returned it.

She had been the one starting the movement. But why? Why had she felt she had needed his embrace? Why was she so confused now? Why couldn't she answer either of her questions?

Her head had ached to the end of the long walk, but now she had how to behave at least. As she had had so far. Not too complicated. It would turn out later, time would say the solution as it had had always. She prayed it would not be too late.

She had another problem to deal with though. Erlendr. Her head was throbbing again with pain as it did such times but she thought and considered and rethought every aspect of her relationship with her mother and her kind. Katrina had been right. Ellesméra was not her home, not any more. She felt alien with her own kind and uncomfortable with humans not mentioning about dwarfs.

Should she risk such a serious step?

She wondered very long and found she had already lost everything valuable for her heart. This was only going to be the declaration of it. She couldn't handle other problems until she was forced and provoked. The decision attracted tears into her eyes making the world a haze. She soundlessly cried for the past she was going to loose and the future she was going to free and make lonely.

_You had been lonely for so long as well, you know that. You and everybody played her__ and his role but now… it's just not enough. It's not my fault. It's not anybody's fault. _She wiped her tears away and looked into the world with a new, hard decision in her heart.

Next time her mother turns against her trying to get her to obey, she will resign her rank as a princess. It would be Erlendr taking her place anyway – he would go back to the country as well as she should have done it. Erlendr was not her relative but counted part of the aristocracy and smaller leaders surrounding the queen or the king. Arya recalled the time she had been a young girl and he could observe them and him as one of them freely.

The man was a tall, black-haired elf with strong magical abilities but she didn't know how much he was skilled in fighting man to man or army to army. Obviously not very much. She herself was the only one taking enough time on battlefields and amongst humans to learn the method they used, the strong points and weaknesses they had as Fäolin and Glenwing had died that night. Eternity was quite enough to study a steady knowledge about fencing and fighting, but, as Arya had had to experience it on her own skin, it was not always enough against so much warriors.

She could see the little elven camp, with the people amongst the tents. Her lips turned to a sad smile. It was so familiar and so much more comfortable now that she couldn't be _forced_ to live here, to be here. Her heart freed from its weights and she smiled kindly at the tall elf man. She must be herself not the woman they wanted to see her.

She entered her tent and she began to play the scene one more time through her mind. But this time, she wouldn't cut off the way of images. She lay down onto her bed and closing her eyes let the images overwhelm her. Come what should come…

_»__…He gently moves his palm up along her spine – she shivers – and opens the first clasp gathering her clothes. She gasps for a moment but then she finds it is the exact thing she wanted: his warm palm brushes her bare skin and hotness is radiating from there into her. She guesses she will die in a moment gasping for air with quick breathes but she wishes this dying would never end. _

_He works quickly with the clasps on her back, not leaving her lips for a moment. She catches the cloth on her shoulder as he undoes all and there remain nothing to hold her clothes on. Suddenly, fear fills her, making her head clear. _

_Arya hates fear: she lets her clothes fall to the ground.«

* * *

_

**Note: **Enjoy. Only 2 chapters left... Next on Friday hopefully. I wanna end it this week so the last will also get on soon.

Love all readers and reviewers,

Amiréa


	20. Chapter 19 Fencing against the instincts

**Chapter 19**** – Fencing against the instincts**

Eragon forced his lunges to take a breathe. It hurt in his chest – last time he jumped off of Saphira… _Last time? Every time! _He knocked against her side. He took another shaky breathe and opened his eyes. The tears of pain finally disappeared of them and he could glance down at the field deep below them.

It was crowded, everyone wanted to see _him_, now even those were there that would have nothing to do at the fencing fields. He suspected they had been there for some time but he was so obsessed he had had no time to concentrate on anything else or care whoever had been watching them.

His shoulder was aching from the constant use and he moaned as he threw up himself into the saddle from the side where he had been hanging from so far, only clinging with one hand. He ignored the pain and tried to concentrate on the task: after he jumped off of his dragon's back, he caught one of the leather bands of the saddle as Saphira flied under him. When he could finally sit in the saddle again, he sighed pleasantly. He became better and better at this.

Glaedr was teaching them again since the discovery of the secret chamber. He got up onto the surface of his mind time to time – but only to teach them, afterwards he sank back to the depth of his Eldunarí. Eragon knew the elves and Islanzadí wanted to speak to him, to tell him words about things they had no ideas, words that would not say anything besides politeness and would only make him more exhausted - but he denied passing the messages and the dragon didn't let anybody into his mind besides them. The Rider understood him – he couldn't say the whys or the way it made him feel, but he _knew_ he would not want anybody either.

_So much about you, __Erlendr, _he thought doing the maneuver again. The new leader of the little elite group was too harsh and too pushy for his taste. Maybe he seemed so only because he wanted to separate Arya and him. _Islanzadí must have thought this the best solution to keep Arya far from trouble. How much she doesn't know about her! She would never let her say her what to do. _It was not so bad he had thought it seeing his arrival through Nasuada's eyes, but he had his doubts about him. Who know how much efforts Arya needed to stay here.

He blew out some air as Saphira was the next victim. They saw the different maneuvers in the old dragon's mind and she tried to follow his instructions. Eragon knew Saphira flied beautifully but these exercises needed all her strength and skill. The Rider united his mind with hers in the background a way he would not disturb her concentration, otherwise he would have thrown up.

He had only one exercise meanwhile: not only look but _see_ at the same time – he changed his vision for Saphira's so all the world played in vivid blue now and every other colour became paler than usually.

He concentrated on the maneuver and tried not to get lost, keep knowing where earth and sky were. Opposite directions, he suspected. Saphira flied and turned and circled and spun and whirled in the air. He clang to the saddle and her spikes but it was still hard to stay on her back – Glaedr decided he was matured enough not to use the leather bands. Other times, when the dragon was spinning with incredible speed, he was pressed against her spine with such force his stomach and his brain sank deep below him.

After some minutes of practising he could feel her please though and she began to ignore the current exercise for a moment flying the way she liked. Her joy gripped him too and they laughed together. The skies were bright, the majestic sapphire dragon ruled it, their minds clang to each other with untearable force and they just enjoyed the sense – pure joy.

Wind whistled in his ears and made his hair tousled. His dragon sight was suddenly very clear as he let it rule himself the way it wanted. He finally found the good method how to handle it – this was so much other than the vision of either the humans either the elves he could barely use it right. Until now. Everything became sharp and determined, every single detail visible. Incredible shades of colours appeared for his eyes.

There were some playing in a much more vivid shade he had known or seen and there were some he didn't even have a name for, colours he had never seen before glinting between and after the colours in a rainbow. As Saphira passed by, he discovered a little water-drop on the leaf of an oak: it broke the light bows and created such rainbow he would not have been able to see with his normal vision.

He was still laughing when they landed on the field – the bystanders ran away with frightened faces as the great dragon crashed the ground. _Maybe we should go somewhere else to practice, _Eragon suggested when Glaedr wanted them to make the next exercise on the field and he resting in the saddle. The crazy flight made him feel easy and happy. A rare occasion he could enjoy being a Dragon Rider without any dark shadows above his head.

_They will be quite a distraction for you and you're practising. The harder the better._

He explained his exercise. Anybody would have said it was easy – he was practised enough to see the difficulty. Fencing was easy. Fencing being half a dragon and half a Rider not knowing where you start and where the other ends – something very different.

_After this flight together, using her vision completely you can take another step forward. Choose somebody and hope he – or she –won't kill you in the process. _The dragon gave a special tone to the word 'she' and he didn't like the way he said it. He wouldn't have chosen _her_ anyway.

He looked around to search him. Everybody was looking both fearfully both strangely at him. He didn't get disturbed of it – their reaction was not amongst the few ones he was interested in. _I will watch you, little one. Just to be able to see yourself from a different position too. _

He laughed: _I don't think I'll be able to do it yet. I'll have to work a lot on it. But it will be useful in battle. And sometimes, when I'd like to have more than two eyes._

He took the magic off his eyes and found his own sight was less useful for battles and flights but definitely better for everyday-use.

Finally, he found the one he was searching for: Roran. He walked to the field he was practising on with a bow. Some arrows were around him on the ground. He watched him for some moments. He was the only one not finishing what he had done at his arrival – he concentrated on the target. His arrow hit it near the centre – it seemed not _all_ of the time was useless Eragon had spent teaching his cousin. He stepped to the trainer and asked politely if Roran could be free of the further practising.

The man's eyes were wide when he joined Eragon but he walked by him silently. "Would you mind practising some fencing with me?" He asked when they (and the crowd) reached an empty fencing field. He stepped onto the middle of it waving towards him.

"Maybe you should ask somebody matching you in skill?" Arya questioned not letting a chance for Roran to answer, coming with the elves to see what the Rider would do next after their flight. She didn't stop with the others, she came closer furrowing. He had been right. She became angry and turned the opposite direction her mother wanted. She stepped much closer to him than otherwise. "And heal yourself before it." She murmured furrowing.

Eragon had no compliments – Arya could do whatever she wanted to show her mother whatever she wanted. But why did she have to step so close, speaking so warmly, looking at him so naturally?

"Heal? What?" He looked where the woman pointed and saw deep scarlet on his clothes. "Aw." He commentated. "Now I can clean this too. Amazing." He suspected it was from the wound he got when he crashed to the side of his dragon. He opened his mouth but the woman was quicker taking her warm hand onto his side with a gentle movement. He let her murmur the words and had to ascertain the elf had done much better work he would have had. Or maybe it was only her touch reaching such effect.

"Thanks." He whispered staring into those deep emerald poles of hers. He could see his own blood on her hands, crimson against the soft, silk skin. The woman stood his gaze, her lips slightly curving to a gentle smile. She _did _went too far. She was standing so close he could sense her breathe crushing against his face, stunning him more than anything else existing on the world. His eyes instinctively wanted to be closed and he had to fight against the daze.

The queen succeed only one thing with her action. One overly dangerous thing. Making everything out of balance so.

To get Arya entirely out of control.

It was Vanir that stepped in. "I'll gladly practise with you as we did in Ellesméra, Eragon-elda."

"Thank you very much, I appreciate your offer, but I'd prefer Roran, if you don't mind." He tore apart his eyes of her and looked at Roran forcingly as he seemed to step back to melt into the crowd. The man went to the Rider hesitatingly visibly not wanting to fence with him.

Eragon sighed and looked around. The crowd not but the elves would have disturbed him even if he had been able to use his skills fully. But now – it was discomforting. However, they were going to be useful if he get some serious injury. Beheaded, for example. "Carefully, brother." He heard Roran murmur while he took off the edge of the sword Roran handed him.

"_You _be careful." He said smiling sourly. Roran laughed but his face soon stiffened seeing Eragon unsheathe Brisingr. He blunted it too then took a deep breathe and looked around for the last time. _Too bad Glaedr wants me to do this here._

_Just concentrate on the task. It'll be hard enough without… _theelves_ too, _Saphira answered. He groaned as his dragon was not the first changing her sentence not to mention Arya in particular.

"You ready?" Roran asked nervousness vibrating in his voice.

"Calm down and don't kill me if it's possible." He laughed but soon stopped seeing Eragon remain serious. The Rider closed his eyes and united his mind with Saphira's. He moaned angrily – it was harder than otherwise. Now there was no true reason just the want. It was enough but took much more time. When he finally opened his eyes again, Roran's face was creased by worry.

Eragon nodded not knowing if she… he… they would be able to speak humanly. Crazy. He should compose his movements, in contrast to a battle – now, he cannot fight only after his instincts. He could not hurt him seriously. He could not kill him.

Roran was suspicious about some dark magic, he could see this on his face. His step in front of him and the way he swung his sword was slow, very slow and also familiar. He tried to hit him on his shoulder with a quick movement up to down. The Rider had seen this sort of attack from him the time he had not had the skills of an elf.

Eragon felt blood in his mouth almost collapsing to the ground with the force of the attack. He managed to touch his lips feeling dazzled and he saw the blood on his finger: he had bit his tongue.

"I said _carefully._" He moaned parting for a moment from Saphira. The feeling was so unfamiliar, so strange he couldn't coordinate himself. It was the third time when he succeeded to lift his arm without getting separated from Saphira. His movements were slow, trying easy to fence against. He concentrated hard but he could barely fend some of his attacks.

Sometimes his instincts took the reign over his body and these times he fended with the speed of an elf for a second, but then the realization and consciousness reached the movement, his arm always stopped and moved again with such speed a child could beat easily.

Once they had to stop, Saphira was laughing so intensively, shaking the ground with her "little chuckle". The method became clearer now: they were together but the human (or elven?) instincts and thoughts broke onto the surface in Eragon and the dragons in Saphira. Hypothetically. Yet, Eragon didn't always manage to do it, along with Saphira. They would have to separate these parts without separating themselves or pushing either personality in front of the other.

Eragon sniffed. It was too hard. Roran's eyes were wide with wonder and the Rider had to stop several times to heal himself before he would die of the bleeding. The ground and his clothes played all in crimson now; yet Eragon was unpleased. He became angry at his clumsiness and was not even be able to curse. To top of that being together needed more energy because they didn't get used to the new, strange bound between them yet. The Rider soon became so exhausted as if he had fought a whole battle.

Roran attacked and he saw he would be too late – he let himself for the coordination of his instincts so. The magic burst of him suddenly and unawaitedly. He didn't count on it – as he was not able to speak. He didn't even know the sort of magic he had used – the words sounded unfamiliar in the order. His voice was deep and husky, not his usual one. He knew he didn't use this spell and also that it was not written in either parchment he had read, not said at any lessons Oromis had given him.

When he regained his hold on his instincts, he was standing opposite the shocked expressionous Roran, holding his blade in _his_ hand. Eragon stared bluntly on his brother's sword. The simple blade was shining with pale sapphire light and was warm against his palm. He felt some magic radiate from his body and connect the sword's giving him a strange sense of power.

He felt Glaedr's mind overwhelm theirs and they let him do what he wanted. He made Eragon walk to the other end of the field meanwhile blunt the light with some spell. The sword became colder and he felt suddenly lonely as he lost his contact with Saphira. The field turned a haze and he sensed he was falling against the ground – then he lost his touch with the world.

**To be continued...**

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**Note:** I'm quite curious **what you think**, so please review or pm me about it. What you think:

Should I start the second part under a new title, new "place", or continue it here? (If you think you'd want to hear my story further.)

Thanks,

Amiréa

PS One more chapter then I finish "book one". :P

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_23rd October, 1956_

_Commemorate the victims and heroes _

_and remember  
_

forever

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	21. Chapter 20 Right here, right now

**Chapter 20 – Right here, right now**

_»__In Du Weldenvarden, near Ellesméra, there's a hidden lake. In summer evenings, soft wind breezes the surface, bringing the scent of blooming wild flowers. A singing brook brings water into it. Where the brook flows into the lake, an old oak is standing, wise with the years the elves spent at his roots. Nobody walks here nowadays; the lake is hidden, the trees hide it. Long ago, a beautiful black woman loved this place, but sadness conquered her heart and the lake became forgotten._

_The oak's branches lean above the water, painting shadows onto the surface. Fragile petal is blown by the wind. It dances around then falls onto the water. It brings the scent of riossa with it – the flagrance is familiar, too familiar and not sensed since the black woman left her garden behind her back. The flowers, all the riossas, died, such as the emotions in her heart._

_The old oak wonders at this sign of new life. Maybe the world will sing around the secret lake again. The ruby__ riossa-petal swings on the surface then a weak wave comes and it dances into the depth.«_

The two were running towards his cottage. Their speed was impossible; their feet barely touched the ground as they used all their strengths. It was still raining, heavy water-drops made the soil muddy splashing brown liquid with every jump. The sky was covered by heavy grey clouds which obviously had an incredible amount of water in them.

"He wants to _get_ _in_?" He asked angrily as the man kept following them to the border of the little estate. They were almost at the gate now and Grûlthar was still behind them. Far behind them, not being able to keep up the speed – but still behind them.

"I won't. I can't." Arya said before Eragon could open his mouth again. "You know I can't." She said and felt the contrary. The man annoyed her yet more than Eragon if this was possible. It was _her_ life he was spying after for crying out loud.

"He is _following_ you. He is following _us_. I know that you are annoyed of it at least as much as me, aren't you?" He had to stop talking to regain his self-control. Arya knew he had almost as much intension to give in and let the instincts take the reign as her. But they couldn't do that. It had gone way too far now. If she let her guard down now, she would not yell at him – she would kill him instantly.

His voice was frighteningly low as he continued. "But you still handle him with patience just because of some foolish promise of your own." The Rider was almost entirely behind his patience. And so was she. That mask still remained on her face, that monotone coolness still remained in her voice, that calculated control still remained in her motions. Yet.

"I won't hurt anybody again because of his love towards me." She replied, lifting her eyes onto the sky repeating her words again rather of habit than believe now. This was the millionth time he argued with her about it. And the millionth time she said no. She quickened her steps. The rain fell faster and faster as if it had wanted to cover the whole world with water.

When they arrived at the cottage, they went into the small living room and Eragon lighted fire in the stove, built into the middle of the house. After some words the bright sapphire flames appeared in it. He kept the flames until the fire burnt without his help too. It was drizzling. Their hair was wet and so were their clothes. But _that_ stupid man kept following them. The Rider saw his exhausted face appear in the window.

She saw his angriness grew higher, it was burning like the flames in the stove. Arya took a hand on his shoulder. To calm him down or to calm herself down, she didn't know. Maybe both. She had got also annoyed and troubled because of his constant presence. He sighed. She felt… worried. Something disturbed her in the situation. The lust to do something raged in her. She tried to think of something else. Anything else.

The man knocked the window seeing the pair of theirs nearly embracing again. Like that day on the clearing. She had acted stupid that time too: she didn't listen to him when he said he would come back and now gossip and suspicion accompanied them amongst the Varden. Amongst the leaders. Amongst the elves. Everywhere.

Eragon surely could see the appearing want on her face. Suddenly she just had enough. Something broke in her and she motioned with the full speed she was able to. A human would barely see her, a human wouldn't notice her, _that_ human wouldn't notice her as she break his neck. With her strength and speed, that man wouldn't notice it, wouldn't feel it. But she was not quick enough to cheat _Eragon_.

He caught her not letting the woman out into the rain to murder that fool. She would regret it afterwards, she knew. But at the moment she just wanted to get out. She fought against him using all her skills to make him let her. He held her tight and safely though, not seeming to notice the bleeding wounds as she scratched with her nails his embracing hands.

She was short of breathe. Only because of the anger. This was the only reason. This was the only reason he held her so tight. The blood was crimson on his hand.

Slowly she regained her self-consciousness fighting the bloodlust and anger. She sighed deeply and tried to get free of his hands now controlling herself. Eragon didn't let her but whispered in her ears.

"Can you find out other option how we can make him sure you are not in love with him and never will be?" Arya stared into his eyes. They were blue and deeper than usually. Maybe because of the trembling light of the burning wood in the stove, maybe she just imagined they were. His eyes glistened bright and flaming as their gaze joined. Suddenly she was strangely aware of the world around her: their breathes in the room made the only noise, their body contacting… Her heart beating faster… His strong hands keeping her…

She knew she was lost. She knew how she should have decided. And yet she asked him not bothering with the future, just the one she could easily read from his burning eyes. She had decided long ago, this was not the time of considering, this was the time of courage.

"What's your option?" She was surprised hearing how husky her voice was. The man observed her for a moment not believing her answer then obviously decided he risked it. He leant very close, ending the distance between them. Arya's eyes closed without her want or her permission.

Sometimes dream came true. Sometimes reveries and desires came true. Sometimes reality became more magical than any dream, any reverie could. Arya never imagined reality could be like this. She thought it was the power only of reveries and dreams. Sometimes disappointment was sweet.

She felt Eragon's lips gently touching hers. Instinctively, she turned her head aside and leant into the kiss. The fear and worry vanished of her as if it had been washed out of her soul. Their breathes mixed caressing their faces. Eragon quietly moaned, his voice adorable and intimate in the soundless peace of the cottage.

He took his hand to the back of her head to pull her closer. Their lips moved together then parted to sense the other's flavour. Her hands clambered up his shoulder and clung to him as she was about to be swept away. The world vanished and nothing remained certain – just Eragon and the move of their mouths and tongues.

Suddenly she was flying, letting all worries, all thoughts behind, swimming amongst the clouds tricking the guards at once and slipping into a world she never imagined to exist. Everything was easy, soft, warm and sweet. Heaven, humans had told her. A world perfect, a world wonderful, a world hidden. Her life was an eternity, she had a chance to live forever not like they. Heaven, they believed. Reality, she had thought.

No matter, she discovered.

She sank back into the emotions just feeling and experiencing. A wonder, she knew.

When she imagined a kiss, it was always disorienting and wild; uncontrolled. Instincts freed, control away. This was something other. Slow and pleasant, deep and soundless. It was not like a battle or a fight. It was a dance. Their tongues danced in their kiss, their body nestled close.

It felt too soon when their lips parted. They were taking the air heavily and fast. Arya looked into his eyes sensing a miracle. Her head was dazzled and hazy, covered with the same soft quilt warming her body and weakening her consciousness. Her limbs became weak and she had to hung to Eragon to hold her weight. The man didn't seem bothered though, he embraced her tightly and she saw in his eyes: he didn't believe more that this was reality than her.

She lowered her head onto his shoulder and felt his gentle cradling one more time. Like that time she cried on his shoulder. After a moment she could put her emotions into words. It was the same: the feeling, she was safe, she was beloved, she was trusted. She was at home.

She knew the man was smiling when he buried his face into her hair and some weird emotion overwhelmed her. Tenderness, she realized. She finally found out: her home was Eragon, his absence was the hole she couldn't live with. She embraced his neck with tight hands. _I won't let it slip from my fingers any more time, _she promised herself soundlessly.

"I love you." Eragon whispered into her ear and a sudden wave of joy and happiness washed her through. The power of the ancient language overwhelmed her and she knew it was true. Truer than anything else on the world. He kissed her skin behind her ear and desire shook her.

She realized her fingers were making slow circles in his hair and knew she had to finish this instantly otherwise the control would slip from those little fingers of hers. She sighed and was surprised to listen to her own sigh. It didn't tell it was enough now – it told this was just the beginning. She licked her lips which had become dry. She had only some seconds left before Eragon would turn back to her and kiss her to unconsciousness and she had to decide.

She saw in his eyes as he turned to her that he saw her eyes were filled by fear. She couldn't help it. She wanted to open her mouth to explain him but he leant close again and kissed her softly, gently, with the kiss the most beautiful and fragile woman on earth would deserve. For him, that woman was her. She sighed. He soon left her lips, leaning his temple against hers.

When she opened her eyes, she saw his were closed and an almost painful expression ruled his face. For a moment, disorientation caught her, but then she discovered the reason. Tenderness and joy filled her heart and something else, something sweet.

Arya would never realize it was love that she discovered that moment, budding love towards the man; never know she was in love with him right now, never get a chance to think about this true emotion in its clearness. But for her, right now, it was enough to feel, to experience it without realization.

Arya watched Eragon fight against his instincts and maybe the first time in her whole life, she thought gratefully of Erlendr and her mother. She caressed Eragon's neck for a last time then took off her hands. She stepped a little back from the man and, staring into his eyes all the time, reached back to her own neck with both of her hands. Slowly, fully aware of the weight of what she was going to do, undid the clasp.

The man's eyes were wide and wondering and she knew she shouldn't do this, shouldn't continue doing this.

Her throat was dry as a desert as she slipped her fingers under the cloth on her shoulder and pushed it down from her skin. She gripped the bottom of the blouse covering her chest and with one fluid movement lifted it above her head and dropped it to the ground. She was wearing a long skirt for Erlendr's sake, the only thing she obeyed his want, knowing it was the least practical in a battle camp. But now, some other movements and she would get entirely naked.

Under the blouse, she wore her black corset as she always had, but unlike other times, gathered up with a wide, golden-patterned reddish belt, long emerald skirt covered her legs made of a cloth similar to the soft blouse lying on the ground. Her gaze met Eragon's and she saw a new emotion in his eyes. He stepped forward to her and embracing her waist kissed her.

It was a new kiss as well: passionate and wild, uncontrolled. She leant against him with all her weight, gasping for air. She turned her head aside so that Eragon could reach more of her skin. The man kissed and bit her neck, his hands working with desperate speed on her back to remove all the little hooks and eyes of her corset as he had already finished the long hairpins holding her raven hair back. Now she felt the heavy weight flow down her back amongst Eragon's busy fingers. She hung to him sensing this was the end of the world, end of everything, coming too soon and yet too slowly.

She moaned and brushed her whole body against his. Closing her eyes she nearly wriggled under his hands. She grabbed his tunic trying to reach his skin, to brush hers to his, herself to him. Her fingers were clumsy and trembling.

Brisingr knocked loudly on the floor with the hilt, but neither of them heard it. Eragon's brown hair got tangled as the woman pulled the tunic off of him. Their speed slowed a bit as Arya could touch his bare skin, embrace him, fawn on him. The man gasped for air as her fingers traced his naked chest and his naked back.

He grabbed the cloth of Arya's heavy skirt and pulling it up to her hip lifted her leg to embrace his hip. Sweat covered their skin and the woman's hand slipped on his back; she had to grab his shoulders hard to keep herself standing. Arya's head fell backwards and the man used her sudden weakness to kiss and trace down at the side of her neck towards the cut between the two sides of the stubborn corset.

Arya's nails scratched his skin but neither of them sensed it. Her body stretched against his warm hands holding her slender waist. Her skirt was creased back on her hip as one of her legs was still around Eragon's waist, half of her corset was opened on her back covered by her hair falling down as a heavy raven waterfall.

The man half lifted her up to himself returning to her lips. All shame, all shyness disappeared with the wild kiss in the power of their passion. Her hand grabbed the man's hair with a weak moan. She wanted it. She wanted to make love with the man, right here, right now. She wanted to be his, the way she had been nobody's before. She wanted Eragon to _possess _her. Their tongues danced wildly, hotness ruled their body. Arya felt she would die. Right here, right now.

"Eragon, where in the hell…" At first they didn't hear the voice at all. But then the disoriented pair looked up surfacing from their world, their _heaven_.

"Oh, holy crap."

At the door, an embarrassed Roran was standing, his mouth fallen open.

**End of book one**

_The story continues in book two: Súndavar, Istalrya, Fëonar._

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**Author's Note:** Umm. I guess this 'end' went a bit too far... Tell me your opinion about it.

Anyway, thanks everybody for reading it so long. I hope you enjoyed it and will check the second book as well. _Special thanks to all my beloved reviewers. And an even more special thanks to Elvendiath, my idea-catalyst and 'serious checker' who always says it's good but talking to whom I can always proof my chapters (not mentioning her friendship and help in my serious problems such as... however, you had better not know about those *blush* ).  
_

I can't believe I finished this... *pleased sigh* I'll do some edits on the previous chapters, but mainly just formally and put a normal A/N to the beginning.

See you soon,

Amiréa

**PS **Some reviews criticising the 'book' as a whole?

I'd love to feel it was worth making Mum mad at me... I'm washing dishes the whole next week actually, and who knows what - she has a wild imagination... *looks at the high tower of dirty dishes next to the screen and sighs*


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